What You Do To Survive
by Melosine
Summary: Tristan meets a young woman, pregnant and outcast, on the road back from Marius' estate. Will she have a hand in changing his fate?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature content in later chapters.

Tristan rode hard and fast, moving away from the rapidly advancing Saxon army, back to Arthur and the knights. In the distance he saw the column of refugees that accompanied them, and slowed his horse a little to let him cool down. Tristan thought bringing the peasants had slowed them down too much, that turning to fight would now be inevitable. He enjoyed a good fight, but this was one they stood a strong chance of losing. None of the knights were happy about the extra baggage, but they all accepted Arthur's decision. He'd always proven to be a capable leader, and had not led them astray thus far. Tristan did not worry overmuch - he was of the belief that when it was your time, death would find you. He did not welcome it, but neither did he fear it.

Coming upon the caravan, he slowed his horse to a walk. He observed the villagers as he rode past them. There were groups of women and children, families walking together, talking and sharing their burdens. One peasant walked alone - a young woman, delicate but heavily with child, who carried her belongings in a pack on her back. She caught Tristan's notice not merely because she was alone, but because of her apparent isolation. No one addressed her, or even looked in her direction. Her burdens were heavy, but there was no one to aid her. Sensing his gaze, she turned her head in the knight's direction. Upon seeing that she was indeed being observed she quickly looked away.

Tristan watched her for a moment longer, but with more important tasks awaiting him, he nudged his horse into a canter and made his way to the head of the column where Arthur awaited his report. The invaders had taken some time in sacking the Roman estate and surrounding village, but they were on the move again. Given the current pace of the Saxon army and that of their own party, he estimated that the Saxons would soon be upon them. Within a day maybe, two certainly. Earlier than that if the Saxons did not camp, as he suspected they wouldn't. He said as much to Arthur, who thanked him for his report.

When no further orders were forthcoming, Tristan fell back and turned his horse to the side of the road, where he dismounted. He stretched, which felt good after the many hours on horseback. He heaved a deep sigh and then turned his attention to his mount. He checked for chafing around the saddle and cracks in his hooves. As Tristan examined him, the horse swept his ears back in annoyance. He was an ill-tempered brute and it wasn't unheard of for him to try to step on Tristan's foot when he was in a mood. Despite his quirks, he was solid and trustworthy in battle, he never balked, and often knew his rider's next move almost before Tristan himself did. More than that, he seemed to thrive on the heat of battle. The knight often considered that he and his horse were well suited to each other.

Tristan dropped the horse's reins and left the side of the road for the privacy of a nearby patch of trees. He would have let fly where he stood, but for the line of peasants that shuffled past him. When the scout emerged from behind the trees, the people had moved on, except for one. The pregnant young woman stood next to the knight's horse, rubbing one of his ears; something Tristan wouldn't have believed if he hadn't seen it himself. The beast had lowered his head to allow her easier access, his eyes were closed in bliss and he was whickering contentedly. When the woman caught sight of Tristan her eyes widened slightly in fear before she cast them downwards. She stopped petting the horse and dropped her hands to her sides. The horse pushed at her with his nose and nibbled at her hair until she relented and started petting him again. She hoped the knight would not reprimand her for touching his horse.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to intrude. He was eating the leaves from that plant." With her hand she indicated a small bush not far from where Tristan had left him. "It's called Bracken. A small amount won't hurt him, if he keeps eating it, he could get quite ill with the staggers." Her hand slid down the curve of his neck, and she gave him a final pat on the side. "It isplentiful here, so have a care".

Tristan inclined his head in thanks and with a return nod, the girl turned away and resumed walking.

Tristan looked at his horse. "Why do you do that, huh?" The horse tossed his head and blew heavily out of his nostrils. "Always eating things that are bad for you. If you get sick, I'll put you down and get a better horse". The horse's ears flattened and only a quick move on Tristan's part avoided the swing of the horse's head meant to collide with his own. He smiled slightly. The horse kept him alert.

He mounted back up and the horse pricked his ears forward. He tossed his head, impatient to get moving. Tristan nudged him into a walk and found himself headed straight for the young woman. As they came up behind her, the horse nudged her with his nose. Tristan pulled him up short, and rebuked him sharply. The girl laughed softly and reached over to stroke the horse's muzzle.

"Careful," Tristan said, "he bites sometimes". He turned the horse so he would not be so close, but the cantankerous creature fought him for the bit.

In an amused voice the girl said to him, "He'll be fine, don't worry. I don't believe he would bite me. He seems perfectly lovely."

A snort of derision escaped the knight. "I've called him a lot of things, but that isn't one of them".

"Maybe that is the problem". She looked at the horse and spoke to him. "Is that it boy? Should he be nicer to you?" The horse tossed his head in seeming agreement, which amused the girl still more.

"Wretched beast", Tristan said, not unfondly."

"I think that wretched beast would probably die for you," the girl said. "He is very loyal to you, is he not?"

Tristan nodded his head. The horse had carried him to safety many times, sometimes when Tristan was too wounded to do much more than hang on. He was a knight's horse, a true Sarmatian horse and he trusted him with his life. As for loyalty, no one other than Tristan could ride him.

Suddenly the young woman exclaimed, "Ooh! How beautiful!"

He followed her gaze to a treetop where his hawk perched on a branch. He whistled, and she swooped down to his outstretched arm.

"She's yours?" The girl exclaimed delightedly. "How magnificent". She uttered a series of chattering noises at the bird, which bobbed its head up and down and replied in kind.

Tristan reached inside his jacket and withdrew a piece of dried meat. The bird eagerly took it from his hand and devoured it.

"Do you think she would let me feed her?"

"I don't know…you can try". He withdrew another piece of meat and handed it to the girl. Tristan leaned down so that the bird was within reach. The woman came closer and delicately offered the treat to the bird, which hesitated before snatching it out of her hand. Unable to help herself, the woman lightly stroked the bird's chest. Tristan's face softened at the look of delight and wonder on her face. The girl was beautiful. Her dark brown hair was just shy of black, and framed a sweet face that shone with kindness. Her eyes were a striking blue-green, surrounded by a deep black fringe of lashes. She had high cheekbones and her full lips were curved in a smile.

Suddenly she moved her fingers away from the bird, just before it squawked and took a snap at them with it's sharp beak. She chuckled softly. "Whist, bird – I mean you no harm."

"Good reflexes," Tristan noted.

"When you live amongst predators you learn to anticipate them," she said. 'Human…animal…they all bear watching."

Tristan looked at her curiously. The woman looked at him and began to speak further, but stopped short at his contemplative look. Her eyes locked with his and she caught her breath. A sudden fear swept over her and she broke eye contact, looking towards the retreating company.

"I fear I am falling behind," she said. "I must go. Thank you for that." With a nod of her head she indicated the bird, which was preening her feathers from her perch on Tristan's arm. With a shy smile, she turned and was on her way.

Tristan was puzzled by her sudden change in demeanor, but the pounding of hooves interrupted his musings.

"Tristan!" called out Lancelot. "Up front! Arthur wants us!"

Tristan pulled himself upright and kicked his horse into a trot. Lancelot wheeled around and after briefly regarding the girl, followed along behind.

As they reached the front of the column, Lancelot pulled up next to Tristan. "What was that about?" he asked.

Tristan looked at him quizzically.

"The girl you were gazing at."

Tristan shook his head. "Nothing."

"What was nothing?" asked Bors.

"Tristan was gaping at some peasant girl."

"I was letting her pet the hawk. And my horse."

The knights looked at each other. People didn't pet Tristan's bird. And they definitely stayed clear of his horse.

"She still has all her fingers then? How did she manage that?" Gawain asked.

'Good reflexes,' thought Tristan.

Bors chimed in with, "That's a mean horse you've got there, Tris. I've still got a dent in my thigh from that time he kicked me. He doesn't seem to know he's only supposed to bite the enemy, not us. If you ask me, he wasn't trained very well."

Lancelot mused, "I think he is justa stupid horse".

"You're both wrong. He just doesn't like the way you smell." Tristan reached down and patted the steed in question.

"But he liked this girl apparently." Lancelot stated. "It seemed as if you liked her well enough also."

"I was only talking."

Gawain laughed. "Tristan, the only time you talk to a woman is when you are haggling over the price." The rest of the men roared with laughter, which renewed itself when Tristan said, "I don't haggle."

Tristan didn't see what was so funny. The other men bought drinks for women, spent hours talking to them, to obtain what Tristan got for a mere crook of the finger and some coin. When he chose to seek the company of a woman it was for one thing only. Release. He didn't want to talk, didn't want any sort of entanglement. He'd go back to their rooms, do what he came to do and as he left he would drop a few coins on the table. He'd seen the other knights dodging women who were after marriage or at least a more long-term arrangement. His way left no doubt as to what the relationship was.

"Anyway - did you not see her belly? She looks about to give birth."

"What difference does that make?" bellowed Bors. "I love Vanora when she's with child. Can't keep her hands off me."

"Vanora is exceptionally beautiful when she is with child," Lancelot mused.

Bors pointed at Lancelot. "Mind you keep your eyes to yourself, boy. You've got legions of women - Vanora's mine!"

"But are you sure that all your children are?" Lancelot laughed and ducked as Bors pretended to throw a knife at him.

"Gentlemen!" Everyone fell silent as Arthur rode up. "We camp here tonight, in that tree line".

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature content in later chapters.

Tristan took his horse to Jols, and removed what belongings he needed for the night from his saddlebags. The squire tied the horse next to the others and would feed, water and groom them. He took good care of them, and they would be well-rested and ready to go in the morning. Tristan carried his belongings to where the other knights were gathered around a campfire. He sat down and pulled out his knife and began to sharpen it.

"Arthur!" Dagonet was returning from checking on the injured boy they had rescued from the dungeon. "Ganis says that there is a healer here who might be able to bring the boy's fever down."

Arthur looked up. "Then get her and see if she can help him."

Dagonet nodded. "Ganis said that she is a young woman, far along with child. Has anyone seen her?"

Lancelot took a bite of his food and said, "Tristan knows her." He glanced sideways at Tristan, who gave him a surly look.

"Then go bring her here, would you Tristan?" Arthur asked.

Tristan nodded, and left the warmth of the campfire in search of the young healer. He checked several campsites before spotting a lone set of footsteps in the snow. He followed them well away from the main campsite to where a small fire burned.

The woman reclined next to the fire, leaning against her pack, which lay behind her. Her eyes were closed and there was a look of utter exhaustion on her face. Tristan was loath to disturb her, but Arthur had given his orders.

"You are the healer?"

The woman's eyes flew open and looked up at the knight standing over her. "I am." She struggled to sit up. "What do you need?"

"There is a young boy who is ill. I've been told to ask if you will see him."

"Of course. I'll be along in a moment". As Tristan stood there waiting, she heaved a weary sigh. With a groan, she began to get to her feet. Tristan, realizing that she was having difficulty due to her state, stepped closer and offered his hand. The woman hesitated and then took it. He pulled her to her feet and when she was up, she quickly let go. She went to her pack of belongings and began to go through them.

"Who is the boy? Is it Alecto?"

"No, another boy. One that was rescued from the dungeon."

Her face tightened noticeably at the mention of that dark place. "What ails him?"

"A fever, I'm told. A broken arm, but one of our knights has set that already."

Having gathered her belongings, she stood upright. "I have everything I need."

As Tristan led her through the forest, she walked along behind him in silence. She reflected upon the moment she had opened her eyes and seen him standing above her. Her stomach had lurched with the same sick feeling she had felt earlier, looking into his eyes. She knew he meant her no harm and could not possibly be attracted to her. She was nervous around men; one could not always tell what their intentions were. She knew that was a perception colored by her own experiences and very much wanted tonot color all men with that brush.

"Where is the hawk?" she asked the knight.

"She finds shelter in the trees."

"I noticed she comes and goes as she pleases," the girl observed.

"She comes when I call, but because she wants to. I do not hood or cage her," replied Tristan.

"She must love you, as your horse does." Softly she added, "you must be a very good man, to command such devotion from your animals."

Tristan was silent. His animals were indeed loyal to him but he did not consider himself a good man – far from it.

"I had a bird once, a raven. I found him, almost dead, and tended to him. He lived but his wing had been badly broken, so he was unable to fly as he should have. He seemed happy with me."

"What happened to him?"

"I was away for some time and when I returned he was gone. Probably dead," she said sadly.

"You could not have taken him with you?"

"Not where I went, no." she said absently.

Tristan and the young woman walked to the fire where the other knights were gathered. "Dagonet, your healer."

"I am Damara," she told the tall knight.

"Thank you for coming, lady. The boy is just this way." Dagonet took her to where the boy lay listlessly near the fire.

The woman felt the boy's face with the inside of her wrist. He was burning with fever. She listened to his heart beating in his chest, to his breathing, and opened his eyes to look at them. She examined his arm, which was well set. She said as much to Dagonet.

"I have much practice setting bones and stitching cuts. But I am not well-equipped to deal with illnesses now," Dagonet said to her.

"I will make a tea for him. It will lower his fever and help the pain in his arm. You must be careful that he not drink too much however. He is young and likely weakened from his ordeal, and monk's hood can be quite dangerous."

Dagonet gave her his thanks, and the woman went back to the fire. As she prepared to make the tea for the boy, a shrill voice rang out.

"Do not let that witch tend to the boy!" They turned to see an older woman who had come up to the campsite. "She will poison him."

Arthur looked at the older woman. "Why do you say that?"

"You endanger the boy's soul to let her give him any of her potions. She's a witch."

"Morag, you know that I am only a healer, as was my mother. The villagers have come to me in the years since she died and harm has befallen none of them."

Morag pointedly ignored the healer and looked at Arthur. "She was imprisoned in the dungeon for witchcraft and fornication. She was to be sacrificed - how is it that she stands here now, when none ever leave God's temple alive? She bewitched and seduced them into doing her bidding. It is the only explanation."

Lancelot leaned over to the other knights and said softly, "Give her a few months and she could certainly seduce me." The other knights snickered, save for Tristan; and Bors replied, "what woman couldn't?"

Arthur looked at the young woman for her explanation in this. "Sir, I am as I say, a simple healer. The boy is in no danger of dying if I do not treat him. But, he will feel much more comfortable if I am allowed to help." Arthur considered the matter and then nodded at the girl to continue with her preparations.

"You are no true Christian to allow such. Pah!" Morag spat upon the ground and walked back to her camp.

As the young healer set to work, Lancelot came over to stand by her. "Why does that woman hate you so?"

"As she said, I was imprisoned for witchcraft – if she believes that what other reason would she need?"

"And fornication," Lancelot said.

"Excuse me?" replied Damara.

"Witchcraft and fornication is, I believe, what she said," Lancelot chuckled.

"I am guilty of neither one nor the other."

"But the perception of both was there? That sounds like a story."

"Not a very interesting one."

"We have little to entertain us."

"It was only a misunderstanding, sir knight. Her husband came to me one day with a toothache. He had been drinking to dull the pain, and wasn't himself." She stirred the tea for a moment. "When I pulled his tooth and the pain stopped he was overcome with gratitude and drunkenly pledged his undying love. He tried to force himself on me and I hit him over the head with a pitcher, slicing his head open. He could not go back to Morag with the truth, so he told her that I had attempted to seduce him. In my anger at his refusal to bed me, I threw a pitcher at him and hit him on the head."

The knights howled with laughter. "I wonder if that one would work with Vanora" laughed Bors.

"Why don't you try it and see?" asked Lancelot. "When she kills you I'll be happy to take your place". Damara smiled uneasily. Men in groups could be dangerous but this easy comradeship the knights shared seemed harmless enough. The quiet knight she had seen earlier in the day was the exception to that camaraderie. He stood on the edges of the campfire listening but not joining in on the conversation. She wondered what made him an outsider among his brethren.

When the laughter died down Lancelot turned back to the story. "What happened then?"

"She confronted me, and was very angry. I tried to reason with her but she would not listen. I lost patience and I fear I was rather unkind to her. I said that her husband was neither young, good-looking, nor a good provider, so what would I want with such a man? She was angered even more, though it would have likely passed in time. Unfortunately he developed an infection, which she would not allow me to treat until he was beyond help. He died and shortly thereafter the guards came to take me to the dungeon."

"Who is she that an affront to her would send you to that pit?" Lancelot asked.

"Morag is a very zealous Christian though some say it is only her way to curry favor. She had Marius' ear and he was always eager to hear about some misdeed and punish for it. She told him that I was a wanton woman who had used witchcraft to sicken her husband out of revenge for refusing me. I doubt that even Marius believed it, but he liked having someone to make an example of."

"Did your husband not plead your case?" asked Gawain.

"I have no husband," she said quietly. She bent her head to her task – she was used to condemning and scornful eyes and sought to avoid them here.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean…" Gawain stammered. The healer looked up in surprise and then her lips curved in kind-hearted amusement at his discomfiture.

"Think nothing of it," she said gently.

"Well, how did you get out?" Galahad asked.

"Marius showed mercy and released me," the healer said.

The knights exchanged glances. Marius did not strike any of them as the benevolent kind. "For no reason, he just – released you? Just like that?" asked Lancelot cynically.

The healer gave them a smile that was tight and strained before turning to Dagonet with the tea. "First, let it cool, then no more than two swallows. It doesn't taste good so he won't want more than one anyway. He may have more in the morning if he needs it." Suddenly a voice piped up.

"I know why he released her." The men turned to see Alecto who had been standing on the edges of the group listening. He looked at Damara and said, "I remember you. I was very ill, but I remember. I thought an angel came and healed me, but it was you, wasn't it?"

Damara went to Alecto and kissed him on top of his head. "You're a good boy and everyone has always liked you," she whispered to him. "I would have done it anyway. But say nothing more. Your father would lose face if it were known he allowed me to treat you." Damara did not tell the boy that her punishment for that loss of face would be severe.

She turned to leave the group but Lancelot called out to her. She looked at him and he said, "since you are here…would you look at my hand? I blistered it and it has become very painful."

"A blister?" Damara asked him, her eyebrows raised.

"A very bad one. I fear it begins to fester." He held out his hand, and she took it in her own hands. She looked at it, and then pulled him closer to the fire to see better.

"I see no sign of festering," the healer said.

"But…there is some pain…"

"I do have a salve that will promote healing and make you more comfortable." She let go of his hand and went through her medicine bag until she found the salve. She again took his hand and began to apply the salve, which she then wrapped with a clean cloth. The knights watched Lancelot, who grinned back at them.

"There. That should feel better," the healer said.

"Much. You have my thanks, pretty lady. For you," he said as he tucked a coin into her hand.

"And you are welcome, sir knight. I cannot really accept this; as my aid was minimal."

"Keep it. For helping the boy, then." She inclined her head in thanks and turned and walked away.

After she left, the other knights burst into laughter. "I have a blister…I'm in such pain…," Bors moaned mockingly.

"I'm surprised you didn't tell her you had a blister on your pecker," said Gawain.

"No, that would be you. I'm a little more choosy about the women I spend time with." Lancelot laughed as Gawain gave him a shove.

"What about the time you went behind the tavern with that big girl who was married to the red-haired soldier," Gawain said, eyes twinkling. "The one who left her at the Wall when he went back to Rome?"

Lancelot winced. "That, I'll have you know, was an act of charity. I'm a kind man."

"Yeah, the kind who can't keep his pecker in his pants." Gawain laughed.

"Gentlemen," Arthur said in a quiet voice, "I suggest we get some sleep. Morning will be here soon."

At his command, the knights began to break up, wandering off into the darkness to find their beds. Each man hoped that the next day would not find the Saxon army breathing down their necks.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**RandomDay** and **MistakenLove**: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm glad you like it so far.

**Marie9000:** Thanks for reviewing. I've had to change a few things to post it here so you'll see some differences. Plus I'm always second-guessing myself on different lines or passages. So it's the same story, but hopefully a little better.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature subject matter.

**Warning:** **This chapter contains a scene of attempted rape (not explicit).**

Damara could faintly hear the knights' merriment as she walked further from their fire. It had been a long time since she had been around people laughing and having a good time. She was used to being alone, and in fact preferred it, but that did not stop her from being lonely on occasion.

As she walked through the darkness she saw the knights' horses, bedded down for the night. The healer recognized the horse of the quiet knight, and went over to him. He whickered a welcome and she stroked his long neck and talked to him for a while. She had always spoken to animals and people were sometimes uncomfortable with it. Her own father had thought she was dark and strange and never had much to do with her. Her mother had encouraged her to try to not be so different, to blend in with the others more. Damara preferred the company of animals to that of people, and took in any injured creature that crossed her path. People looked upon her with suspicion and she realized that she hadn't been her own best ally. Caring for farm animals and dogs was one thing, wild creatures were another matter. Any loneliness she felt was her own doing. She tickled the horse's nose and kissed the velvety softness of it. There was a prickle in her eyes as tears began to gather. It seemed she cried over nothing these days. Suddenly she was very weary and eager to seek her bed.

Trudging through the snow, she now wished that she had not camped so far away from everyone. She stopped and leaned against a tree to get her bearings. With her fire probably out she would have a hard time finding her way back. The tears began to prickle again and this time she buried her face in her hands and wearily began to cry.

"You need comforting, I'll comfort you."

Her heart dropped into her shoes at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Aeneas," she said. The most persistent of her Roman tormentors.

"Mmmm, " he answered in the affirmative. He turned her towards him and roughly pulled her close. His hand came up to pull her head towards his in a rough kiss. Her arms came up against his chest in a vain attempt to push him away from her and she twisted her head to evade his seeking mouth.

"Not tonight. Please, leave me alone."

"You're not happy to see me?" He pushed her up against a tree and continued his onslaught.

"I'm tired and I need some sleep."

"I won't keep you long." He took her head in his hands and forced his mouth down upon hers. She struggled against him, but was no match for his strength. His hand reached down to pull up her skirt and she felt ill when his hand slid up her thigh. She tried to push it away.

"I said I don't want you!" she cried.

"When have you ever?" He laughed. He burrowed his face in her neck. "Just be still. You can't run; you can't fight me. Just let me do this, it will be over in a few minutes and you can go on with your night."

He pushed her to the frozen ground and pinned her wrists down with one of his hands. He pulled her shirt open and she was disgusted to feel his tongue slide across her skin. She struggled, but realized it was futile. Maybe he was right. Just let him get it over with. The longer she fought him, the longer she would have to lay here freezing. Who would care anyway? He'd be done shortly, and it wasn't like she had any virtue to protect. She lay back and turned her head away from him.

He sensed her surrender. "Ah, that's my girl." She lay there, freezing, looking blankly into the darkness as his fingers and lips roamed her body. Her face contorted with revulsion and tears fell from her eyes as she waited for him to get started, and therefore, be finished. Despite what he'd said, he seemed to be in no hurry to begin the act.

As the hot tears streamed down her face she realized that she hated herself. She was allowing this to happen without a fight. When had she become so weak? She'd stopped fighting them because it never changed the outcome, but in doing so, lost respect for herself. And wasn't that worth fighting for, even if her body wasn't?

His weight pushed down on her, and the discomfort was almost unbearable. To lessen the pressure on her belly, she tried to shift his weight but was unable to move. She felt him push her legs open and her discomfort and repugnance gave way to rage. She felt around frantically for something to use as a weapon. She remembered the knife she kept around her waist to cut plants. Without thinking, she pulled the weapon from her side and brought it to his throat.

"Why can you never leave me alone?" she cried.

He stopped and his eyes grew cold. "You have taken leave of your senses. You know the penalty for this is death."

Filled with terror at what she had done, but unable to change course now, Damara answered, "better that than this."

Furious, the Roman easily disarmed her. He hurled the knife away and his hand cracked across her face. She felt his hands close around her wrists and pin them to the ground. She struggled helplessly as he renewed his assault on her. He moved into position to enter her and his weight pushed the breath from her lungs. Gasping, she wondered if this time she'd still be alive at the end of it. Suddenly he became still and his grip on her wrists lessened. She gulped air, trying to fill her lungs and looked past him to see Tristan holding a sword to the back of the soldier's neck.

"Get up" the knight said softly.

"You meddle where it does not concern you, Sarmatian," Aeneas growled. "You interrupt me with my woman." He slowly got to his feet, pulling Damara up with him.

"I'm not his woman," Damara protested.

Aeneas looked down into her face. "Do you forget who had you first? And many times since?" To Tristan he said, "She is mine to do with what I will. I could break her neck and face no punishment. By what right do you interfere?"

Tristan shrugged. "I interfere because it pleases me to. You could break her neck. And then I'd get to slit a Roman throat. If you have so little regard for your woman and child, why should I have any?"

The soldier laughed harshly. "I never said it was my child. It could be anybody's." He glanced down at Damara. "She has lain with many of us, and is not worth your efforts. She has a sweet face, but she is well-used to being on her back."

"Do not make it sound as if I was ever a willing participant in any of it!" Damara said angrily. "As for your disgusting attentions I will be glad to be rid of them."

Aeneas grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. "You'll never be rid of me," he said softly. Looking into her face, he said to Tristan, "She looks so innocent, doesn't she? It amazes me. Even after everything we've done to her…" he broke off as Damara spit full into his face.

"Stupid whore!" he growled. He hurled her to the ground and drew back to kick her, a heavy blow that landed squarely on her lower back. Damara cried out in pain, and as the Roman went to kick her again, he felt Tristan's sword come down heavily on his head. Turning back to the Sarmatian, he found the point of that same sword at his throat.

Aeneas knew that even had he been likewise armed, he would have been completely outclassed. Unarmed as he was, to press on would have been suicide. His eyes bored into Tristan's with a futile rage and then he raised his hands, signifying his surrender. The pressure of the blade was lifted and the Roman backed away. As he left the clearing he looked at Damara, and her gut churned. She knew if he ever caught her alone again, she would pay dearly.

Damara tried to get up. She struggled against the pain of the heavy blow to her back and the fear that turned her legs to water. Seeing her distress, Tristan offered her his hand, as he had earlier. She rose to her feet, but a sharp pain shooting through her body sent her back to her knees.

Tristan stood, uncertain of what to do now. Chivalry was not in his nature and he'd already gone far beyond anything he'd ever done before for a woman. Still, this was an inefficient use of his time, and he was impatient to get what sleep he could.

He knelt beside her and easily scooped her up in his arms. As he carried her back to her campsite, her head fell against his chest, and one arm curled around his neck. She smelled fresh and sweet, unlike most women of his acquaintance who doused themselves in perfume. When he reached her campsite he placed her gently near the fire and sat down opposite her.

"I am grateful," she said softly. "If you hadn't come when you did I might be dead now." She was quiet for a moment as she thought that she'd be dead or worse the next time Aeneas saw her anyway. No point in saying so to the knight – it wasn't his problem and he had done more than enough for her already.

She remembered the things Aeneas had said about her and was humiliated. "You think me a whore," she said softly. When no answer was forthcoming, she looked up at him.

"I think nothing," Tristan said.

Damara nodded and hung her head. The shame rightfully belonged to the Romans who had taken what was not theirs, and not to her. Still, she felt it deeply.

Tears threatened to fall, and she tried to blink them back. She turned her head as if looking into the darkness and dashed her hand across her eyes. Damara wanted no pity or sympathy and did not feel sorry for herself. Mostly, anyway.

She'd been luckier than the others who had been in the dungeon. Her torture had not been nearly as great and unlike the rest, she had walked out alive. Because of the punishment chosen for her, service to the Roman soldiers, she hadn't even had to stay in that soul-killing place for very long. She'd been housed separately, and every now and then taken back to that rotting hole so that the priest could ascertain for himself if she was truly penitent of her crimes. Of course, no matter how she'd cried and pleaded, he never thought she truly meant it, and back she'd go to her room in the soldier's quarters.

She was certain the others would have traded places with her in a heartbeat. If, for the gift of her life she had a few bad memories to deal with, then it was a small price to pay. Above all, she owed it to herself to maintain her dignity. When she turned back to face Tristan, her face was serene.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Tristan nodded his head.

"It is late and I know you must be tired," Damara said.

Tristan looked bemused. Was he being dismissed?

"I'm not telling you to go. You can stay if you want to…" the girl stammered. Her face flamed. "But I'm not saying…"

Amused at her discomfiture, Tristan raised his hand to stop her. "I'll stay. It may not be safe for you alone here."

He noted the look of relief the passed over her face. "You're very welcome. But I'll be fine if you have somewhere else you need to be."

"You already have a fire built. It will save me the trouble," Tristan returned. "I'll be back shortly."

After he left, Damara threw some more wood on the fire, and then gathered a few more pieces and put them next to the fire to dry. Then she sat, listening to the silence of the woods and munching on some bread she'd found in her pack. It was good, flavored with berries.

She doubted Aeneas would come looking for her, but she would feel better with a weapon close at hand. Digging through her pack, she retrieved her spare knife. She regretted the loss of her good one and wondered if she would have time to look for it in the morning.

She shifted uncomfortably. Her back ached where the Roman had kicked her. Her hands probed gingerly – the area was tender and would bruise badly. She thought about making a compress but was too weary to do anything but sit there. Wrapping a blanket around her against the cold, she sat with her knife clutched in her hands.

Her eyes were beginning to close when she was jerked awake by the sound of approaching footsteps. The sound was faint, but stood out in the dead silence of the night. Her heart began to beat faster and she listened closely, barely breathing. She saw an approaching figure and her throat went dry. Was it the returning knight, or had Aeneas found her? Slowly she got up, preparing to run or fight, as best she could.

When Tristan stepped into the circle of light, her sense of relief was so great she nearly cried. He looked at her quizzically as he threw his belongings on the ground. Damara sat back down and settled back in her blankets, closing her eyes. He likewise prepared his bedroll and settled in. After a few minutes he heard her voice.

"What's your name, sir knight?" she asked.

"Tristan," he replied.

She smiled. Sleepily she said, "Tristan…you're the kindest man I've ever known." With that, she drifted off to sleep.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Dazzler420, FlamezBlaze1 and Miggyrow:** Thanks for reviewing! I try to keep the knights in character -I hate being taken out of a story when a character says or does something that they clearly wouldn't do. I sort of had a hard time with Tristan rescuing Damara and I try to explain his motivation in this chapter. Hopefully it works. And **Miggyrow** - glad you like Damara. I'm trying to avoid the Mary Sue syndrome. Or at least to avoid hitting too many "Mary Sue-isms" anyway. Either I'll succeed or I won't. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature subject matter.

Tristan was amused by Damara's perception of him. He didn't consider himself a kind man, in fact he knew he was capable of great cruelty.

He'd left the fireside when Lancelot had started flirting with her. Lancelot, and his constant chasing of women – even pregnant ones it appeared. From the place he'd settled Tristan had seen her leave the knights and watched her petting his horse. He was bemused by the fact that the cantankerous nag allowed that. A knight's horse was fiercely loyal to his master and was trained to attack the enemy. For that reason, strangers were not always safe around a Sarmatian-trained horse and that held true particularly for Tristan's horse.

When the healer left the horse, she turned in a direction that would have led her away from her campsite. He got up to intercept her and put her on the right path. He supposed he was responsible for getting her back to her campsite safely as he was the one who'd been ordered to bring her in the first place.

He backed away when he saw the Roman approach the girl for what he assumed was a rendezvous. He was surprised by the twinge of regret that he felt. While he mulled over his odd reaction it became apparent to him that this meeting was not one of mutual desire. He looked away – this simply wasn't his business. What some Roman soldier chose to do to a peasant girl was not his concern. He'd seen rape many times and while neither he nor the other knights partook, it was a part of war. It was conquest – taking the woman of your enemy, showing your power. Tristan just didn't see what challenge or honor there was in the defeat of a woman.

He watched as the soldier pushed the girl to the ground. She was helpless in the face of the man's greater size, and could never prevail against him. Tristan hated Romans. They took everything they wanted. Tristan reflected that there could be some satisfaction to be had in ruining the soldier's evening. Surely that was an adequate reason to intervene. When the girl put her knife to the man's throat, Tristan knew that she would either die or be badly injured without his aid, and he made his way towards them. Before he quite reached them, the soldier struck her and Tristan was surprised by the anger that shot through him. Killing the man would have been satisfying, but watching him fume in helpless rage took a close second place.

He had carried the girl to her campsite simply because it was quicker than waiting for her to walk there on her own. But when she had curled into him and wound her arm around his neck he melted just a bit, and found himself enjoying the closeness, the soft, sweet scent of her. He was used to women drawing away from him – he was more wild, more uncivilized than the other knights. His demeanor did not invite approach. The women he consorted with were usually prostitutes looking for a few coins, and he was rarely their first choice as a companion. The other knights usually liked at least the pretense of conversation and drinks before getting down to business. On occasion some of the more adventurous "ladies" visiting the keep would come to him looking for something crude and demeaning. He'd had more than a few rough shags up against an alley wall with the wife or mistress of some Centurion or another. Those experiences were about mutual use, and were every bit as cold as his financial arrangements with the prostitutes. Women did not regard him warmly, or smile at him or touch him. This was mostly by his own preference, but when he set Damara down, it was with some reluctance.

While the healer slept, Tristan busied himself with sharpening his knife and listening to the darkness. He had never required much sleep, and when he did he slept very lightly. He looked at the girl sleeping soundly in her blankets. She was a beauty, and he reflected that the Roman had been right. She had an undeniable air of serenity and innocence about her, despite what she'd apparently been through. He understood why the soldier was driven to possess her –there was a part of her that he could not have.

Throughout his years at war, Tristan had seen the best and worst in men. Some were not satisfied until they took something and ground it to dust. Women, horses – he'd seen both ruined by a man's need to completely dominate. Tristan could pick out such a man at a hundred paces. He knew the Roman, or at least men just like him.

A bruise was beginning to darken the side of her face where the soldier had hit her. Tristan's jaw clenched, and he regretted not returning the favor when he'd had the chance. He leaned back and watched her until he drifted off into a light sleep.

Damara awoke abruptly from a bad dream. Her breathing was rapid and it took her a few moments to get her bearings. She looked across what remained of the fire and saw the sleeping knight lying there. His blanket lay next to him; having fallen away while he slept. With a groan, she got to her feet. Quietly she went to him and covered him with the blanket. As she tucked it in around his shoulders, she took the opportunity to study his face. He was a very handsome man, though he was different from any other man she knew. Even in sleep his face did not relax - he looked as hard and stern as he did when awake. She looked at his tattoos and wondered what their meaning was. Maybe she would ask him the next day. She reached up to touch one of his braids and then stopped herself. What if he awoke?

She went to tend to the fire, which was dying down. She put some more wood on it, and moved closer to get warm. Once her front side was sufficiently warm, she turned around to heat her freezing and aching back. She saw her medicine bag lying there and reached over to get her salve, hoping that would help ease her pain. She lifted her shirt, and the fire felt good against her bare skin. Gingerly, she worked the salve into the bruised area where Aeneas' kick had landed. She sat there for a few more moments, enjoying the heat, and then returned to her blankets to finish the rest of the night.

Tristan had awoken as soon as the girl had gotten up. Even sleeping, he was always aware of movement around him. It was cold and he thought to wrap himself back up in the blanket, but he didn't wish her to know he was awake. He kept his eyes slit to observe the girl and when she approached him, his senses grew taut. He could not guess at her purpose – and it was his habit to be ready for anything. She replaced his blanket around his shoulders and then sat there studying him. He was aware of his heart pounding harder. He considered opening his eyes, letting her know he was aware of her, but he wanted to know what her purpose was. Was she going to try to steal from him? He discounted nothing. He saw her hand go up to touch his hair, and then draw back.

He relaxed as she left him and tended to the fire. She'd merely been curious about him - he was used to strange looks from people. He observed her as she absorbed the warmth of the fire, and then as she tended to the bruise on her back. When she lifted her shirt, he saw that she had been whipped - her back was crossed with scars. Until she settled back down to go to sleep, he stayed alert, silently and secretly observing. He listened to the even sound of her breathing and soon his thoughts faded away as he drifted back into sleep.

Tristan awoke early the next morning – he had to leave much earlier than the others. The girl needed rest, but he did not want her to oversleep and get left behind. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she awoke with a start. Her eyes were wide, but then she relaxed when she saw it was Tristan.

"What is it?" she mumbled sleepily.

"I have to go," he said. "Everyone will be getting ready to leave soon, so you should wake up."

She nodded and stretched. In mid-stretch, she suddenly stopped and a soft groan of pain escaped her.

"What is it?" Tristan asked.

"It's just my back", she replied, moving gingerly. "I'm a little stiff from laying on the hard ground." As she spoke, she realized her face hurt, and she carefully opened and shut her jaw. "Ow," she said. "How bad does it look?"

"I've seen worse," Tristan said. "You should ride in the cart. We still have far to go and you're too far along to walk the whole way."

Damara shook her head. "I still have a month left to go and there are others who are having more difficulty. They should ride."

Tristan shrugged. "Whatever you think," he said. He picked up his belongings and fighting the urge to turn for a last look at her, walked away.

Jols was up and had his horse saddled for him. He nodded his thanks to the squire and mounted his horse. It was still dark and quiet when he rode away.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**MistakenLove, BlackPaintedWhite and LANCELOTTRISTANBABY**: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review. This is another short chapter but I hope you like it.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that. 

**Rating:** M for mature content. Not in this chapter, though.

Damara took her customary place at the back of the caravan when they moved out that morning. There had been some commotion earlier. She wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but word had gone around that Marius was dead, killed by Guinevere's hand. She supposed she was glad, but Marius was only one evil man among many. His death would change little. At least Alecto would be free from his influence now.

She was bone-tired and the ache in her back was only getting worse. She thought longingly of the wagon, but the caravan was moving at too fast a pace for her to be able to catch up to it. It was all she could do to keep up. While she tried to make the best of it and just put one foot in front of the other, she began to lag behind.

She stopped briefly to catch her breath and allow the pain in her back to subside. The relief was welcome, but did not last long once she was on the move. Every step she took became agony, for along with the pain in her back she now had pain in her womb. Birth pains wracked her body with every step she took. She knew they were false because they stopped when she rested. While the presence of the pains did not mean birth was imminent, she also knew the false labor could turn true if she did not rest. The caravan had moved on without her and she was now quite alone. A tide of panic began to well up in her, but after a moment's indulgence she quelled it. No one was likely to miss her or come for her so it was up to her if she wanted to survive.

She was not inexperienced in the woods; she sometimes spent days at a time looking for certain plants when in season. Her sense of direction could be better, but if she paid attention she would not get lost. She had some food, and her knowledge of edible plants would serve her well. She had blankets and would build a fire for warmth. Hopefully she would find some decent shelter. Her decision made, she headed into the woods. The Saxons would be passing by soon and she wanted to be well hidden from them. They would march right past her and when they did she would be able to return to the road and make her way south.

She found a stand of trees that offered adequate shelter, wrapped her blankets around her and settled in to wait.

Tristan had been busy all morning, scouting first what lay behind and then the way ahead. His tasks done for the moment, he rejoined the caravan. As he rode, his eyes searched for the little healer. She was not walking among the people, so he thought she must have decided to ride in the wagon with the child and the Woad. He rode past the cart, but saw no sign of her.

He asked the knights if they had seen her, but none could remember. It had been a busy morning and they would likely not have noticed if they had.

"Tristan – as long as I've known you, you have never cared one way or the other about any woman. Why the interest in this one?" Lancelot asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tristan looked at Lancelot with irritation. He was in no mood for his mocking banter today, or for examining his motivations. He had a thought. "Where is that Roman?" he growled. He kicked his horse into a gallop and rode to the Roman formation. The other knights, mystified, followed along behind.

Tristan leaped off his horse and yanked the soldier in question out of the formation. He slammed him up against a tree and pushed his knife against the man's throat. "Where is she?" he snarled.

The other soldiers broke formation to go to their comrade's aid. The knights, swords drawn, maneuvered their horses to stand between Tristan and the angry Romans.

Tristan's knife pressed deeper into Aeneas' throat. "I asked you where she is."

"The whore? I haven't seen her since last night!" He grew frantic as the tip of Tristan's knife began to draw blood. "I swear it! I haven't done anything to her! I haven't even seen her!"

"She's not here," called out a voice.

Tristan let go of the soldier, who dropped to the ground. He turned to see who spoke. It was the woman Morag who had spoken against Damara the night before.

Tristan walked towards the woman, pointing his knife at her. "Where is she?"

"She's gone. She fell behind hours ago. The Saxons probably have her by now. Good riddance," the woman said with satisfaction.

"And this is how a Christian treats her neighbor," Lancelot said with contempt.

Tristan quickly mounted his horse. "Arthur?" he said. "I won't be gone long."

Arthur reluctantly nodded his permission. "Go, but quickly. We need you. And when you come back, no more of this." He gestured in the direction of the knights and Romans who were still spoiling for a fight. "We don't have time for it."

Tristan nodded curtly and wheeled his horse around, galloping towards the advancing Saxon army.

Damara sat in her thicket of trees, blanket wrapped around her. She occasionally got up and tried to move around for warmth, but the contractions would stop her almost immediately. She was freezing, but did not dare start a fire for fear the Saxons would smell the smoke and come to investigate. She could hear the faint sound of Saxon drums in the distance and her stomach began to churn. The snow had not fallen much since she had first taken shelter and she was terrified that the Saxons would get curious about the tracks in the snow that would lead straight to her.

She berated herself for being too proud to ride in the wagon from the beginning. If only she had, she would not be in this predicament. She tried to tell herself that everything was going to be fine; that she was well capable of taking care of herself in the woods, but doubts flooded her mind. As she began to cry, she angrily dashed her hands across her eyes. She knew it was her pregnant state that threw her emotions into uproar, but she was furious that she could not control them. She needed her wits about her now. She took a deep breath and concentrated on quelling her inner turmoil. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. She sat there for a moment in silence and then her eyes flew open as she heard the sound of someone approaching.

It sounded like a solitary horse and rider to her ears. Well, she supposed it could be just a horse but rather doubted one would be wandering rider-less through the woods. It was coming up the hill, no doubt following the footsteps she'd left in the snow. A Saxon scout, she assumed, riding ahead of the party. Her breath caught in her throat and her mind raced, trying to think of some way to get out of this. The horse was getting ever closer.

There was no escape. She could never outrun the scout and even if she did, her tracks would lead him right to her. Climbing a tree was certainly out of the question. The Saxons showed no mercy, so pleading was hopeless. That left trying to fight her way out of it. She, who had never wielded a knife against anything more dangerous than a rabbit she prepared for stew. She stood up, planted her feet squarely and waited, knife in hand. She willed herself to ignore the pain that shot through her body.

Tristan followed the girl's tracks through the woods. She had been easy to find; a blind man could have tracked her. The Saxon drums beat louder, so he was anxious to find her and get back to the group. He rounded a stand of trees and came upon her standing in the path, knife held at the ready and with a look of determination and terror on her face. After his initial sense of relief, he felt amusement at the sight of her standing in an attack stance. But he gave her credit for bravery, as useless as it would have been to her.

Damara lowered her knife when she saw who her tracker was. She stood in disbelief and then said, "What are you doing here?"

Tristan thought that would have been obvious, but he said, "Looking for you." Sternly he added, "I told you to ride in the cart."

She was crestfallen at his rebuke. "I know – I should have. I didn't want to be any trouble."

"Well, you've been that," he said.

He was surprised to see her eyes flash in anger. "Please don't misunderstand me – I am grateful to you. But I will be no one's burden," she said in a tight voice.

"I haven't done anything I haven't wanted to do," said Tristan quietly. "You are no burden to me."

Damara blinked as tears began to fill her eyes. "I have always taken care of myself," she told the knight.

"Let me take care of you this time," he said softly, looking into her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

Tristan dismounted and picked up her pack. "Take only what you need," he said. "We must ride as light as possible. Quickly; the Saxons are almost upon us."

Damara took her medicine bag and a few other things she would need from her pack. She began to walk over to the horse and suddenly bent over in pain.

Tristan came to her. "It's not your time," he stated.

Damara shook her head. "Just false pains," she said with amusement. Was he hoping, or demanding?

Relief flooded Tristan. He wanted nothing to do with childbirth. "Let's get you on the horse," Tristan said.

Tristan mounted back up and reached down to Damara. She held up both arms to him and he lifted her easily and swung her around behind him. The horse shifted nervously, but quieted when Tristan placed his hand on the beast's neck and spoke softly to him.

"We'll cut through the woods," Tristan said. "Hold on."

Damara wrapped her arms tightly around the knight and held on for dear life as they rode away.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Dazzler420** - Yes, I could just see Tristan as a midwife. Not quite the type to rub your back and feed you ice chips, is he:)

**Cardeia** - Thank you so much for the generous review! I'm so glad you like it. I enjoy doing the banter between the knights because that is a part of the movie that I really liked. I wished that the DC version of the film had not cut so much of that out. It helps you see who they are. Like when Bors got all soft talking about his kids and then tried to play it off. Anyway, here is another chapter and I hope you continue to like where I take the characters. Oh, and I enjoy Lancelot as well - he's fun to write.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature content - not in this chapter though!

Some time later they came upon the caravan, and Tristan slowed their pace. The ride had been frightening yet exhilarating and Damara regretted that it would soon be over. Her cheek lay against the knight's back and she could feel the hardness of his chest beneath her hands. She felt safe with him, and she enjoyed feeling the strength of his body. That in itself was unexpected because she thought never to find joy in such a thing. The hardness and strength of men had only ever meant pain and degradation. It felt strange to appreciate the very thing that had previously only frightened her.

Tristan pulled up next to the wagon and signaled for the driver to stop. He dismounted and Damara slid off the horse into Tristan's arms. "You will stay with the wagon," he said. "You understand?"

She nodded her head. She'd be happy to. She stopped Tristan as he turned to leave, and stood on tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek. "Thank you. Again," she said; her eyes full of emotion. Tristan nodded, a little uncomfortable. He didn't usually do things that induced feelings of gratitude and this was the second time in as many days. He remounted his horse and joined the other knights.

As he pulled up alongside the others, Lancelot gave him a sidelong glance and chuckled. Tristan looked at him, his eyes promising death if he said a word. Lancelot only laughed louder, but wisely kept any comments to himself. Tristan spied his hawk flying above and called to her. Within moments she had rejoined him. The knights rode on in silence, listening to the faint sound of drums.

Damara rode in the wagon, trying to lie as still as possible. She tried to get some sleep, but the drums in the distance kept her awake. The knight Lancelot came by the wagon, and spoke for a time to the Woad girl Guinevere. Damara could see he was attracted to her. He wore a mask of mocking humor and blithe charm but it covered up something deeper, a side of him that she doubted many people ever saw.

Occasionally Guinevere would leave to walk for a while and stretch her legs. Damara envied her that but did not dare try for fear the pains would return. Lancelot rode up to the wagon on one such occasion. Damara saw him and called out, "Guinevere is not here – I believe she is walking by the one called Arthur – your leader, is he not?"

Lancelot looked in Arthur's direction. Guinevere was indeed walking next to him. Some uncomfortable emotion tugged at Lancelot, one that he was unwilling to explore at the moment. He told the girl, "Actually, I came to speak to you."

"Me?" Damara was surprised. "Your blister has gotten worse? Or perhaps something else ails you now? A hangnail? Or maybe excessive wind."

Lancelot had the grace to look slightly embarrassed and he chuckled.

"You made me wonder if the tales of the Sarmatian knights had been greatly exaggerated, that one could be felled by a tiny flap of loose skin on his hand," the healer continued.

Lancelot laughed out loud. "I admit, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you. Beautiful women affect me that way."

Damara looked away; skeptical of his flattery. "That is a beautiful woman," she said, looking at Guinevere and Arthur.

"She's pretty enough," Lancelot said carelessly.

"Your eyes follow her frequently for one you only consider 'pretty enough'," she said.

"She is one of the enemy – if my eyes follow her it is for that reason alone."

"If that is what you say," Damara said.

"It is. There is nothing more to the matter." He gazed off into the distance for a moment and then casually said, "Do you know that Tristan attacked one of the Roman soldiers this morning? He seemed to think the man had a hand in your disappearance." He studied her face for a reaction and noted with interest that the healer's face had colored.

"I am indebted to Tristan for his kindness," she said. "But there is nothing more to the matter."

Lancelot laughed aloud. It would be a challenge getting information from this one. He saw that Tristan had turned around at the sound of the dark knight's laughter. Tristan wore an inscrutable look on his face and Lancelot gave the scout a wide smile.

"So, why do you think Tristan did something that is so unlike him?

The girl said, "Why don't you ask him?"

"Because he won't tell me," Lancelot admitted. "Oh, come - it's a long journey. There is little to do but talk," he smiled.

'This is a charming one,' thought Damara. 'Exasperating, but charming.'

"So – who is the Roman? A lover, jealous of the attention our scout has been paying you? Tristan would not have put that bruise on your face, so one can only assume…"

Damara cut him short. "No, he is not a lover. I have no lovers," she said.

"No lovers - then you must be The Goddess herself, to bring forth life on your own."

Damara was growing increasingly perturbed with his questions. "I'll tell you what, sir knight. I will answer any question you choose, if you will first answer one of my own."

Lancelot cocked his head. That sounded intriguing.

"When you watch the two of them together," she indicated Arthur and Guinevere, "you get a certain look on your face. Why is that?"

"There is no look on my face," Lancelot protested.

"There is. Very subtle, but it is there. Something in your eyes... Will you tell me what it is I see there, or shall I tell you?"

Lancelot gave the girl a measured look. He smiled at her, and then started to chuckle uncertainly. She'd asked him a question that was unanswerable. How to explain something that was only in her imagination? His smile slowly faded away. Or was it?

She gazed at him evenly, her eyes boring into him, and said finally, "You have no answer?"

Unnerved, Lancelot's usual wit failed him and he could only reply with, "I have no time. Regrettably there are duties I must attend to. But we'll talk again." With that, he rode away.

Damara felt ashamed of herself for diverting his questioning with such tactics. The handsome knight obviously had feelings he was hiding or not prepared to acknowledge and she had deliberately poured salt in a wound. It was cruel, and beneath her. She would apologize the next time she saw him, but thought that he would probably stay far away from her. Would she never learn to keep her observations to herself? The knowledge that he would now avoid her made her sad – as exasperating and obvious as the man could be, he was also friendly and charming. She liked him.

When Lancelot had left, Tristan worked his way over to the wagon and rode along beside it. "How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"I seem to be doing well. No pain since I have been cooped up in here."

Tristan nodded. "That's good. No one has bothered you?"

"No. A few hateful glances from Morag, but I am used to that. Everyone else has been very friendly. Your friend Lancelot is particularly charming."

"You're a beautiful woman – he would be," Tristan growled.

Damara's face flushed with the compliment. Lancelot's flatteries rolled off his lips with the ease of much practice - Tristan was more plainly spoken. She'd never considered herself beautiful, but it pleased her that Tristan seemed to think so.

Suddenly Arthur's voice rang out, calling for his knights. Tristan rode quickly to the front with the others. The caravan came to a halt before a lake of ice, which lay before them. After a brief conference, it was decided that the only way left to go was forward, across the ice.

Everyone was told to get out of the wagons and spread out in an effort to distribute the weight more evenly. The going was slow and the ice creaked with every step. The Saxon drums were getting closer, creating a sense of urgency among the group.

The knights looked at each other, all thinking the same thing. The blood drained from Damara's face as she realized that the knights had decided to stop running. They would hold the Saxons back while everyone else moved on.

Damara didn't see how they stood a chance – there were maybe hundreds of Saxons and only the seven knights. Guinevere's decision to stay added only one more bow. This was foolhardy -they could still run. She watched the knights prepare and her eyes drank in every move that Tristan made. She desperately wanted to speak with him, but did not wish to interrupt his preparations. She couldn't bear the thought that she might never see him again.

She watched him as he spoke with Ganis, who had been charged with getting the people safely to Hadrian's Wall. After they were done speaking, Ganis nodded and moved to the head of the caravan, which began slowly moving forward. Damara's eyes remained locked on the knight, hoping desperately for one more glance from him. She was rewarded when he turned to seek her out with his eyes. She held up her hand. After a moment he returned the gesture and then he turned to join the other knights.

The hours that followed were excruciating. Damara could do nothing but stare out the back of the wagon, looking for any sign of their return.

Finally the knights appeared as specks in the distance and everyone cried out shouts of joy. But that joy turned to sadness when it was realized that one of the horses carried the body of its master.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Dellis and LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Thanks for reviewing. I hope you like this chapter; it's a small one but I'm rather fond of it.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature content.

Damara looked out the window of the room where she was now ensconced at Hadrian's Wall. As well as charging Ganis with keeping her safe from the Roman soldier who harbored her such ill-will, Tristan had given him instruction to have Damara housed in the knights' wing of the keep. It had originally housed many knights, but as they fell, the rooms became vacant and were mostly kept that way, except as the remaining Sarmatians saw fit to use them. There was ample room in the wing and the Roman would not have easy access to her.

She had not yet seen Tristan or any of the other knights since they had returned – they were grieving their lost brother and she did not expect she would. She would seek him out the next morning to offer her condolences, as meager as they were. For now, Damara was glad for the chance to get washed up and put on a clean shift, after which she sank down on the bed and succumbed to exhaustion.

Tristan staggered back from the tavern headed for his quarters. He was drunk; they all were. It had been a somber evening – it was too soon for fond remembrances of Dagonet, all they could do was mourn his loss in anger. Tomorrow they would be burying a man who should have been free to go on with his life.

Tristan tried not to feel much anymore. Death had haunted them all for fifteen years. There had been too many lost brothers for far too long. After long practice, not feeling had become second nature. He observed and in his own way, he mourned. He tried to maintain a practical attitude – everyone was going to die and the only thing that mattered was the manner of your death. By that measure, Dagonet had had a death to be proud of. But this time the loss felt different. Dagonet had been so close to his freedom and finally being able to have some sort of life. The unfairness and cruelty of that life being snatched from him just when it was about to begin was incomprehensible.

He could find little comfort in the company of the other knights. He watched as they grieved together, grew angry and cried. He could do none of that. He'd always kept himself apart from their rituals of grief, and could not start now, at the end. Too restless to simply observe in loneliness, he left the tavern for the familiarity and solitude of his own company.

He reeled into his room and began to disrobe. He took off his shirt and sat down heavily on his bunk. He realized that while he did not want the company of the other knights, being completely alone in his grief was intolerable. He thought about finding a woman, but the thought of his usual impersonal encounters left him cold. He wanted something more. Warmth, understanding – something. He'd feel better going to the stable and grooming his horse. There was a tranquility he felt in the company of his animals that he never felt with his own kind.

Damara abruptly came to mind and he sat up on the bed. He hadn't thought of her or seen her since they'd returned, and only hoped that Ganis had done as he'd been instructed. He suddenly felt the need to see her very badly. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed a lantern and walked uncertainly out the door.

After checking several empty rooms, he found one with a fire burning in the fireplace. He walked in and stood by her bed, watching her sleep.

"Damara!" he called softly. He whispered her name again.

Her eyes opened slightly. "Tristan? Is that you?" she asked sleepily. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Oh, Tristan!" she said sympathetically. "How have you been? I wanted to see you before, but I did not want to intrude." She got out from under the covers and kneeled on the bed. "Come, sit here beside me."

Tristan did as she asked, and she placed her hand on his cheek. "I'm so sorry about Dagonet. He was such a good, kind man." He could not meet her eyes, which were searching his face. He looked down, unwilling to show the pain that he felt.

"How are the others doing?" Damara asked.

"Doing alright – they're at the tavern."

"Tristan? Look at me."

Tristan shook his head and refused to meet her gaze.

"Come here, it's all right," Damara murmured, enfolding him in her arms. He buried his face in her neck and clung tightly to her. She held him close and stroked his hair, and soon great choking sobs wracked his body, and he held her ever tighter. She rocked him while she whispered soothing words and kissed his hair. Slowly his tears subsided, but he continued to cling to her. His face was buried in her neck, surrounded by her hair and he breathed in the soft scent of her. He was suddenly conscious of her softness against him, and of her skin against his mouth.

Damara became intensely aware of Tristan,and that her hands were caressing his bare back. His breathing against her neck became more measured, and by his sudden stillness she felt he was aware of her as well. Her heart started to pound, and she felt a curious fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. She slid her hands around to the front of him, against his chest. Whether it was to caress him or to push him away, she wasn't sure. She felt the mat of hair on his chest and had an urge to run her fingers through it.

Suddenly Tristan let go of her and stood up. "I am disturbing your sleep – I must go now."

Damara let out the breath she did not know she'd been holding. She got out of bed and looked up at him. "Are you sure you'll be alright? If you need to talk a while longer I don't mind." She touched his arm, and was startled when he pulled away from her. He looked at her and his eyes blazed.

"No – I have to leave now." He turned and walked unsteadily to the door. When he got there, he leaned heavily against the doorjamb. "Or I won't be leaving at all," He said, under his breath.

After Tristan left, Damara's nerves were a-jangle. She could not sleep and spent the remainder of the night tossing and turning. Finally after several hours she fell back into a restless sleep.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Marie9000, LANCELOTTRISTANBABY and dellis: **Thanks so much for reviewing. This chapter, and the next are a bit darker and also a bit longer. Hope you don't find them too much of a departure from the story so far.

**MistakenLove **and **BlackPaintedWhite: **Sorry to say, **ML**; that they're not going to kiss very soon. But take heart, they will! And the story's not coming to an end for a while yet, **BPW**. I sort of dance around with these two and this story turned out to be quite a bit longer than I thought it was going to be.

**Cardeia:** I'll be sure to check out your recommendations - glad you like the characterizations. I think it can be tricky getting Tristan to show emotion without it ringing false and I hope I keep it at least fairly believable in my journey with this character. Sometimes we all have our ideas about what the characters will and will not do and I hope mine jibe with the readers'.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that. **(Do I really have to keep adding this dumb thing? Oh well.)**

**Rating:** M for mature content.

**WARNING: Tristan gets a little dark in this one. Scenes of violence and non-graphic sexual violence in this chapter. Death of a non-movie character.**

The next morning Damara got up and ready to go to Dagonet's funeral. She put on her only set of clean clothing, smoothed her hair into a respectable bun and left early. She would walk slowly and carefully to avoid further strain on her body. The pains had largely disappeared since coming to Hadrian's Wall, but she wanted to be careful.

The funeral was well attended. Many of the villagers came to pay their respects, as did Alecto and some of the Romans. Damara was relieved that she did not see Aeneas among that group. The knights were all there of course. She tried to meet Tristan's gaze, but he did not look at her. No doubt he was feeling too saddened by the death of his friend to be bothered with her.

After the funeral, she made her way back to her quarters. It would be quiet there; the knights and Arthur were meeting at the Round Table. She supposed Tristan would be leaving soon and the thought made her sad. They'd only known each other for a couple of days; it was foolish to even think about him in that way.

And then there was the impending birth of her baby – a child of uncertain parentage to a woman of questionable moral standing. She supposed she would always be considered a whore because of her unmarried state. Whether those who sat in judgement knew she had been willing or not, it wouldn't matter to them. A decent woman would have killed herself rather than live with such dishonor.

Damara could not agree -why should the actions of some horrible men dishonor her enough that she should end her own life? She had a life to live and even if that meant never having a proper husband then so be it. No man would ever want her to wife now anyway, she knew that. Truthfully, she didn't know that she could take a husband even if she found a man who would accept her. The thought of performing wifely duties was repulsive to her. The dead weight on top of her, fetid breath in her face, the pain... She shivered in disgust. She dreamed of going somewhere else, where nobody knew her. She could make up a dead husband, killed in battle. And who would know? She'd live as a respectable widow and her son would no longer be a bastard. But those were only dreams, and her reality would be quite different.

She knew she was going to have a son. Furthermore, she also knew that he would be her only son. There were possible daughters in her future, but there would be no more boys. She sometimes had strong feelings of things that would come to pass, and knew things about people that they did not tell her. It was something that she never spoke of, though people sometimes sensed she knew more about them than she let on. Another reason why her villagers preferred to keep her at arm's length. She reflected that this knowledge was not always useful, and knowledge that would have been did not always come to her. All in all, her feelings were a curiosity, but had not been of any real value to her.

She made her way back into the keep and started up the stairs. She was feeling better and thought she might get her medicine bag and have a look around to see what sort of plants she could gather. Only for a short while, but she was not used to inactivity and needed to get out. She entered her room and her mind was preoccupied with what herbs and plants she needed to replenish, and when she was grabbed from behind it took her completely by surprise.

The breath was knocked out of her when Aeneas slammed her up against the wall. His hand covered her mouth so roughly she could taste blood.

"The knight," he hissed. "Who is he to you?"

Eyes wide, Damara shook her head. Aeneas lifted his hand from her mouth slightly. "Nobody," said Damara.

"Your nobody made a fool out of me in front of everyone. He did that for nothing?" He slammed her head against the wall. "Is he a lover?"

"No, I'm telling the truth, I swear," she cried. "I just met him."

"It doesn't matter," Aeneas said. "Whoever he was to you, it's over. You'll be with me from now on." He pushed her to her knees. "But first you're going to apologize nicely to me for the trouble you've caused." With his free hand he fumbled with his clothing, and his hand tightened in her hair.

As he assaulted her, Aeneas took pleasure in telling her his plans. She'd be smuggled from the keep in a trunk when the Romans departed. Once in Rome, he'd hire her out to whoever had money to pay. Her child would be sold as a slave - in all, he planned to turn a tidy profit.

Damara was terrified, but tried to keep her wits about her. If he managed to get her out of the keep, she was finished. The moment when he would be most distracted was approaching, and after that her chances of escape were nil. Weak with fright, barely believing she was daring to do so, she lightly touched the handle of the knife he carried in his boot and started to pull it loose. The soldier's breathing started to become ragged and labored. Digging deep for bravery she wasn't sure she possessed, she gripped the hilt of the knife and with all her strength, pulled it free and buried it in his thigh.

Aeneas howled in pain and reeled away from her. Damara staggered to her feet and ran for the door. Wild with terror, she ran down the hallway as fast as she could. A slash of pain ripped through her body, and she dropped to the floor. Through sheer force of will she got back to her feet and reeled down the hallway, breath coming in ragged sobs. She looked back over her shoulder and to her horror, saw Aeneas standing at her door, looking down the hallway at her. She re-doubled her efforts, but despite his wound he was upon her in a few moments. He grabbed her by her hair and threw her to the ground. She slapped wildly at him as he loomed over her and wrapped his hands around her throat. Blood from his wound flowed freely and stained her clothing. The coppery smell of it filled her nostrils and she began to feel light-headed. A mist began to descend upon her and the edges of her vision began to blacken.

Tristan sat at the Round Table with the other knights at this, their last meeting together. What should have been a celebration was instead a sad affair, with all eyes gravitating towards Dagonet's empty chair. Tristan stood up and as the other knights looked at him, he told them that he would be back shortly.

His heart was not in this, and Damara had weighed heavily on his mind. He had been drunk the night before and wondered if he'd behaved improperly. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, but he recalled the feelings she had aroused in him. He hoped he hadn't pawed her like some drunken lecher. He had been unable to meet her eyes at Dagonet's burial for fear of what recriminations he might see there. He could not remember ever caring about what a woman thought of his behavior, and the fact that he did now disturbed him.

What he did remember was being in her arms and breaking down in them. He, who couldn't remember having ever cried before. He remembered at the time feeling safe and warm in her arms, but in the cold light of day he was ashamed of his weakness. There was something about her that diminished him. He knew himself, how he would react in every situation. Somehow around her, that had changed. He'd lost control of himself in front of the other knights, lost his head with that Roman – because of her.

He supposed concentrating on something else would help get his mind off his disturbing thoughts. Something like packing up his belongings and getting ready to leave as soon as he could. He had no specific plans, other than just riding out. Maybe with some of the other knights, maybe not. He supposed he would find someone else to fight for. That's all he was good for now anyway.

As he entered the knights' quarters he heard the sounds of a struggle. He crept up the stairs with great caution, for the smell of blood was heavy in the air. His blood ran cold and he drew his knife, apprehensive about what he was going to find.

When he saw Damara on the ground, covered in blood, he went berserk. The Roman soldier kneeled over her, choking the life from her. Tristan hurled himself towards the man, knocking him away from the healer. He heard her cough and choke and relief washed over him at the realization that she still lived. Tristan slashed the Roman with his blade, again and again -all his anger and pain channeling into this furious attack. He kept hacking at the weakened man long after he stopped all resistance. Damara's screams slowly brought him back to reality and he looked at the corpse beneath him that was now nearly unidentifiable.

He staggered to his feet and towards Damara, his hand out to her. He had to know if she was all right. So much blood - was it hers? She recoiled and backed away from him, a look of terror on her face. He looked at her for a moment and then dropped to his knees in exhaustion. He was hurt by her reaction - he would never do anything to harm her.

He looked down at himself and saw his blood-drenched tunic, and once again noted his loss of control. He'd always been calm and deadly efficient – his coldness in battle was why he still lived. Still more evidence of this new weakness of his. He recalled the old woman's words on the trail and thought that maybe Damara truly was a witch to have changed him so in the short time he'd known her.

News of the commotion in the knights' quarters had reached the fortress hall, and the other knights had come running, weapons drawn. The sight that met them rivaled that of a battlefield. Blood streaked the walls and the floors and covered both Tristan and Damara. Something that was only vaguely recognizable as human lay in the hallway, lying in a growing puddle of still more blood.

Damara slowly gathered her legs beneath her and began to rise to her feet. As she stood upright, she was shattered by pain that wracked her body. She felt as if her womb was being ripped from her. She cried out in pain and fell back to the floor. Damara was on her knees, sobbing in pain and holding her belly. Lancelot looked at Bors and said, "Get Vanora. Quickly!"

Bors bellowed loudly for Vanora, running back down the stairs as Lancelot went to Damara. He picked her up, carrying her down the hallway back to her room and sat her down on the bed.

"The basin!" she gasped. "Please! I need…" Lancelot dashed over to get her the wash basin. She grabbed it and tried to vomit into the basin. She hadn't eaten, so she could only dry heave until she thought she would pass out. Weakly, she set the basin on the bedside table, and looked around for the water pitcher. "What do you need, Damara?" Lancelot asked.

"Water - I need to rinse my mouth," Damara cried. The taste of vomit and the Roman and the stench of blood coated her mouth and she was frantic to be rid of it all. Lancelot handed the water to her, and she began frenziedly rinsing out her mouth, spitting it into the basin. Lancelot sat beside her in sympathy, holding her hair and stroking her back until she collapsed against him, sobbing.

Gawain and Galahad walked in from the hallway, where they had been inspecting the body. "What in hell happened here?" demanded Galahad. Lancelot looked at him and shook his head. Arthur walked in behind.

"What happened here? Tristan?"

Tristan looked up at Arthur; eyes curiously blank. "He was killing her. I made him stop."

Arthur looked at Tristan incredulously. "That," Arthur pointed at the steaming corpse, "goes far beyond making him stop. That man's own mother would not recognize him now." He ran his fingers through his hair in consternation. "Is that the same soldier from the trail?" he asked.

Tristan nodded his head.

"Well, at least there won't be any more problems with him," Gawain drawled.

Galahad laughed involuntarily and then stopped himself.

Arthur shot a look at both of them. He strode over to Damara where she sat on the bed holding her face in her hands,Lancelot sitting, concerned, beside her. Arthur kneeled in front of her. "Damara – that is your name, Damara?" When the girl nodded, Arthur continued gently. "What happened here?"

In a halting voice, Damara replied, "he came here to take me back to Rome with him. I stabbed him so I could get away. He chased me down and began to choke me. That's when Tristan came and…." She shuddered with the recent memory.

"Why was he here to take you back? Is he your baby's father?"

Damara buried her face in her hands and shook her head. She was not going to tell her sordid tale and humiliate herself in front of a roomful of strangers.

"Arthur, that's enough." Tristan said softly. "Leave her alone."

Arthur's eyebrows raised slightly as he regarded Tristan. He was Tristan's commanding officer. Then he remembered that he wasn't. Not anymore. He nodded slowly.

"Just get this taken care of," he said. Then he turned and strode from the room. As he walked past Tristan, he said, "in the hallway if you will."

Tristan had briefly considered disobeying Arthur's order. After all, he was a free man now. But he respected Arthur and would hear the man out. As Tristan left the room, Galahad and Gawain followed, discussing the issue at hand.

"You know of anyplace we can stash a body where it won't be found?" Gawain asked Galahad.

"I don't even know how we'll get it out of here. It's dripping blood and it's a stinking mess. And no one's going to notice?" Galahad's complaints faded away as he and Gawain stepped out of the room.

At the far end of the hallway, Arthur and Tristan were talking.

"What is this about, Tristan?" Arthur asked. "You've not been yourself lately – and this…I don't even know what to say." He knew Tristan had the potential for some disturbing behavior but this was beyond anything he'd seen before from the scout.

Tristan didn't know what to tell Arthur - that he'd lost control because of his feelings for a woman? Not likely. "I've been distracted, but that won't be a problem now. And that's all there is to say."

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hands in exasperation. Having a conversation with Tristan had always been like pulling teeth. "What provoked all this? If the Romans come looking for answers I want to have them."

"He was her…" Tristan didn't know how to put it. "He raped her."

"Was he the baby's father?"

"She never said," Tristan stated. "But from him I didn't get that impression. She was held for a time at the estate, and there were many soldiers."

"I see," said Arthur. The last few days had been educational for him. He was disgusted with the atrocities that were done in the names of God and Rome. He looked Tristan squarely in the eyes. "Is there anything else I need to know? Any others who may have raised your ire, because God knows I don't want a repeat of this."

Tristan silently shook his head. "There won't be any more problems."

Lancelot joined them in the hallway. "Vanora is with her now."

Arthur nodded. "Good. And we've got a mess to clean up here."

Lancelot looked down the hallways where Bors, Gawain and Galahad were trying to decide how best to deal with the remains. "Thank you for this Tristan. Really, I mean it."

Tristan didn't even bother to throw him a dirty look, because he knew he deserved whatever ill feelings he got over this one.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Cardeia:** Yes, what Lancelot says is meant as sarcasm. I am a fairly sarcastic person, maybe I tend to see sarcasm in lines that others might not. I'll revisit that and see what I can do to make it more clear. I think Damara's reaction is one of shock to the immediate situation but won't really change how she sees Tristan, long term. I won't deal with that until chapter after this one; hopefully it will work. In this one I deal with Tristan and I'm not sure how well I convey how he feels - I sort of feel that it might be too drastic a change in his attitude. Please let me know how you feel about it after reading this chapter. With the abuse, Damara was more terrified about what was going to happen after than was he was doing right then. She hates what he does to her but it's not unfamiliar.

**MistakenLove:** I think Tristan has a lot on his plate lately and is reacting to all of it, not just Damara. She's just the catalyst I think. There is Dagonet's death, the fact that their freedom is now here and what he's known is all coming to an end. Freedom is good but maybe a bit scary after all this time, especially for him. What does he have other than battle?

**BlackPaintedWhite:** Glad you're enjoying the story. :)

**LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Okay, here's the update, but it's a long one.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature content. **WARNING: Non-graphic sexual scene.**

The body had been removed and cleanup was well on its way when Vanora came out of Damara's room. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell of blood that still hung in the air.

"Men!" she called. "I need you to get some things for me." The knights looked up at Vanora as she continued. "I need buckets of water, a pot to heat it in and a wash tub. Also, some clean blankets or sheets. Bors – will you go get one of my old shifts? She is a bloody mess and she has nothing else to wear." Tristan thought he saw Vanora cast him a look of accusation.

"What's happening?" asked Galahad.

"A baby's going to be born, that's what. A little early, but everything should be alright." As the men continued to stand there looking at each other Vanora snapped, "I don't have all day! Move!" The men jumped into action.

"Tristan!" Vanora called. "She'd like to see you if you have a minute."

"I don't," Tristan said shortly. He began to walk away.

"Tristan!" Vanora barked. The scout halted, but did not turn. Vanora crossed the distance between them. "You get in there now and see what she wants. She's in pain and she's frightened and she wants you!"

Tristan's eyes glittered coldly at Vanora, who suddenly felt that she was treading on dangerous ground. This blood-spattered and feral Tristan was one that she was unfamiliar with. She freely flayed the knights with her sharp tongue when they were up to nonsense, and Tristan took it as good-naturedly as the others did most of the time. But Vanora was suddenly reminded that this knight she knew was also a very dangerous and dark man.

"You tell her whatever you want. But I don't want to see her right now," Tristan said in a soft voice that made Vanora shiver. Then the scout walked away.

Vanora's temper rose but she wisely held her tongue. She turned and stormed back into the room where Damara waited. "We'll soon be all set, dear. The men arehaving water brought inand we'll get you all cleaned up and looking pretty to meet your new baby when he or she arrives."

"He," said Damara absently. "It's a boy."

Vanora smiled. She remembered being dead certain of the sex of a couple of her children and turning out completely wrong. "What are you going to name him?"

"I don't know – I thought I had more time to decide."

Vanora laughed. "Well, you do. A few hours anyway, maybe until morning."

Damara winced as another contraction started. Vanora took her hands and said, "No, no – don't fight it like that. You'll only make it worse. Just breathe – like this." She took a slow, deep breath. Damara tried it and when the contraction was over she said doubtfully, "I think that helped…a little".

Vanora snorted. "Darling, nothing is going to help much. A little is all you can ask for."

Apprehensive, the healer asked, "How much worse is it going to get?"

Vanora didn't want to lie to the girl, but she didn't want to scare her either. After considering what to say she finally settled on, "You'll do just fine, love."

For the first time Damara really faced the fact that she was going to have this baby and she was terrified. She'd done some midwifery and of course knew of the pain, but until now that pain had just been an abstract idea. Now that she felt it first hand she wasn't at all sure about this. "Vanora, I can't do this."

"Oh come now! If it was truly so bad, do you think I would have 11 children?"

"Eleven! You can't have! Why, you hardly look old enough…" she stopped as Galahad tentatively stuck his head in the door. "Van – is it okay to come in? We've got the things you asked for. And the water is already heated," he added helpfully.

Vanora waved him in, and Gawain and Lancelot trailed in behind him, bringing in the items she had requested, along with a few servants with more water. The tub was deposited on the floor and filled in record time. As soon as this was accomplished, the knights beat a hasty retreat. Last in the door had been Bors, holding several of Vanora's shifts in his huge hands, which he held out towards her. "I couldn't decide, so here you go." He flung them in her general direction and fled back out the door.

Vanora made a small, amused sound. "Men! They're only too happy to be there at the beginning but just try to get them to be around to help at the end of it!" She helped Damara over to the tub and began to pull her clothing off. "Into the tub with you, girl. You're a bloody mess and no mistake!" As Damara stepped into the tub she heard Vanora's sharp intake of breath as she caught a glimpse of her back.

"Who beat you so badly, child?"

Damara sank back into the tub and sighed. "The priest who oversaw the dungeon at Marius' estate. He allowed the soldiers to do with me as they would – he said it would teach me to hate my sin so that I could be free of it." She laughed; a short bark of amusement. "He didn't always think I hated it enough, I guess."

"It sounds like a horrible place."

"It was, but I was lucky, I suppose. I was mostly kept in a room in the soldier's quarters, as they were not allowed in the dungeon. It was a horrible place - full of the stench of death. You couldn't sleep because the rats would come to gnaw on you, as if there weren't corpses enough for them. If you could have seen the things they did to those poor people," she said sadly. "I'm still alive, and the whipping was as bad as it got for me. The other...well...sometimes it's hard to live with, but at least I live." Her eyes grew distant for a moment and then she pulled herself out of her memories and smiled at Vanora."My son is the one good thing to come from that place. No matter who fathered him, I'll love him and make sure he grows into a good man."

Vanora smiled as she helped the girl bathe. "I'm sure you will, love."

The knights all waited in the tavern, having no desire to be anywhere in the vicinity of their quarters and the room where Damara was giving birth. Tristan came in and sat down after he'd bathed. The other knights visited companionably, drinking and reminiscing, but Tristan was in a dark state of mind and the other knights were loath to engage him in conversation. His disturbing display of rage and the messy cleanup that followed were not mentioned.

He was an odd one, this quiet brother of theirs. He was one of them, true enough, but he had always set himself apart. He took their good-natured ribbing with equanimity but there were times when that dangerous glint appeared in his eyes and they all knew when to leave well enough alone. Lancelot, with his devil-may-care attitude, was sometimes the exception. But tonight even he kept his tongue still, for Tristan simmered with a dangerous kind of anger.

"I wonder how things are going up there?" Galahad mused.

"Why don't you go on up and see?" returned Bors.

Galahad's eyebrows shot up. "Me? No, I'm not going anywhere near there."

"Well, you're the one who is wondering. Not me - every time I see Vanora go through that I swear I'll never touch her again," Bors rumbled.

"And how long does that vow last?" Lancelot asked.

Bors' familiar gravelly laugh burst forth. "I usually forget all about it in a couple of weeks, and then have to wait a couple more until I can break it."

The knights, save for Tristan, laughed. Gawain said, "Where IS the midwife anyway?"

Bors shrugged. "I don't even know what she looks like. Vanora's all woman – she's never needed her. But Vanora knows what she's doing; she's got it under control."

Dimly, from the direction of their quarters, came the faint sound of a blood-curdling scream. Tristan's jaw clenched and his hand tightened around his tankard. The other knights paled and looked at each other, except for Bors, who calmly tipped back his pitcher and took a long gulp. "That, my friends, is why I try to be gone when Vanora's about to give birth. I don't need the guilt on my head."

The knights looked doubtful. Lancelot said, "That didn't sound good. Maybe someone should go up and see if Vanora needs the midwife. Just in case." Everyone was suddenly very interested in the contents of their pitchers. "Tristan?"

The scout's eyes flickered coldly and briefly at Lancelot, who took that to mean he was not interested in the job.

Lancelot threw back his head, downed the contents of his pitcher and stood up. "Well, since none of you are man enough, I'll go."

Lancelot made his way up the stairs and went towards Damara's room. He hesitated outside the door and then poked his head in. "Vanora?"

Vanora turned around and saw Lancelot in the doorway. She flapped her hands at him. "What are you doing here? This is no place for you to be!"

Lancelot looked past her at Damara, who was pacing the floor; a look of intense concentration on her face. "We heard the screams and thought…"

"There are always screams, you bloody fool! It hurts!" Damara said with exasperation.

"So, everything is going well?" Lancelot looked doubtful.

"Yes, yes. Everything is fine. It won't be much longer. Now go!"

Lancelot turned to leave, but stopped when he heard Damara cry out again. Vanora went to her and held her hand as Damara crouched, trying to breathe through another heavy contraction. She relaxed when it was over, and looked up to see Lancelot.

She took a deep breath and smiled wearily at him. She was tired and drenched in perspiration and tears stained her face. But he was surprised at how beautiful she looked to him. He waved his fingers at her and then fled to the sounds of Damara's tired chuckle and Vanora's tinkling laugh.

He arrived, breathless, back at the table where the other knights sat, drinking. He signaled to the barmaid for her to bring him another drink.

"Well?" Gawain asked. "What happened?"

"Vanora chased me out and said that everything is fine."

"Told you," said Bors, raising his pitcher to his lips.

"What was going on in there?" Galahad asked.

Lancelot thought how to describe the young healer wearing a white shift, legs bare to the knees, restlessly pacing the room. Her dark hair, damp and falling in waves over her bare white shoulders and the fine sheen of perspiration that made her appear to glow. He remembered her full-throated cry of pain, the rasp of her breath as she panted in exhaustion afterwards. She had been beautiful and primitive.

"Lancelot?" Galahad prodded him.

Lancelot remembered what he had laughingly called her on the trail. "It was like seeing The Goddess," Lancelot said thoughtfully. Then, embarrassed by his drunken philosophizing, he laughed lightly. "Speaking of Goddess," he bellowed, "where is she with my drink?"

"On my way, I'm only one person, love". The barmaid slammed the pitcher in front of him and he pulled the wench down onto his lap and fondled her. She giggled and whispered into his ear. He laughed in return and slapped her on her ample rear as he sent her on her way.

The knights jumped as Tristan slammed his pitcher on the table, cracking it and causing wine to leak onto the table. He stood abruptly and left, knocking his chair over as he did so. As he walked past the wench who had recently occupied Lancelot's lap, he grabbed her arm and pulled her after him.

"I have to get these drinks out!" she protested, but fell silent as Tristan turned and glowered at her. She hurriedly set them down. Tristan pulled her across the tavern, opened the door to the storage room and shoved her in. As an afterthought, he turned and grabbed a drink from the hand of a Roman soldier who was just lifting it to his lips. The soldier, a longtime resident of Hadrian's Wall, wisely let it pass.

As the door slammed heavily behind the couple, Lancelot rose from the table, concerned for his lady friend. Bors caught his arm. "Let it go, Lancey. She's a hale wench – he can't do her any damage." Disturbed by their friend's recent change in demeanor, the knights continued to drink in silence.

Tristan was livid. He didn't know if it was with himself, with Lancelot, or with the girl for coming into his life in the first place. If she'd just left his damned horse alone everything would have been fine. He was disturbed by his loss of control in slaughtering the Roman, for it had indeed been a slaughter. No finesse, no skill, no satisfaction at the well-won victory over an enemy. No, the Roman's death had been the work of a near madman. Then there was the hurt and anger he felt at the way Damara had pulled away from him. And Lancelot - he'd seen the look on the dark knight's face as he thought about her. What had that 'Goddess' nonsense been about? The thought of Lancelot wanting and working his charms on her threw him into a rage. The fact that he even cared about any of it in the first place frustrated him to no end.

He pulled the door closed behind them and the barmaid went to work loosening his laces as Tristan stood there and downed a mouthful of wine. Rarely a thoughtful or particularly gentle lover, his anger made him more careless than he might have otherwise been. He ordered her to her hands and knees - he didn't feel like looking at her. Impersonal and cold rutting was going to suit him just fine tonight. Pushing up her skirts, he took her roughly and without ceremony. Minutes later he finished, lying heavily on top of her, having in his frenzy pushed her flat to the floor.

After catching his breath he got up and adjusted his clothing. He pulled out a few coins and dropped them on the floor. "Bring me another drink. After you've got yourself put together," he added carelessly as he walked out the door.

Tristan staggered out of the storage room, breathing heavily. His physical needs were sated for the moment and he was in slightly better humor. He sat down heavily at the table and leaned back in the chair, heaving a deep sigh of satisfaction. Lancelot ground his teeth and glowered at Tristan who merely glanced at him in return.

The barmaid emerged from the storage room, looking somewhat the worse for wear. Her hair was tangled and she was attempting to put it back into some kind of order. Seeing that Tristan was not in the foul mood he had been previously, she came up to the table and lifted the front of her dress to show him her bloody knees. "I think I deserve a little extra for that," the wench snapped at him.

Tristan held her eyes with his cold steady gaze as he dug out a coin and flicked it onto the floor at her feet.

Lancelot was furious with Tristan and his hot angry gaze challenged the scout, who returned the dark knight's look with a cool one of his own. Bors put his hand on Lancelot's arm as a warning against starting anything with Tristan tonight. As the two knights eyeballed each other, Galahad spotted Vanora coming into the tavern.

"Vanora! Over here!"

Vanora walked wearily over to the table and plopped down on Bors' lap. She leaned against him. "I'm tired, love." She looked around, sensing the tension. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing. Just having a last drink with some friends," Lancelot said tightly. "So – what'd she have?"

Vanora laughed. "A little boy. She said he was going to be a boy, and she was right." Her brow lowered. "We'll have to talk to her about the name though. It's not right."

"Why, what'd she name the little bastard?" asked Gawain.

"Bran. She named him for a pet raven she used to have. Can you imagine such a thing?"

"Well, a raven is a filthy bird, but a name is a name I guess," said Bors.

"A raven is a bird of ill-omen. That child has enough counting against him without throwing that into the mix!" declared Vanora.

Tristan smiled slightly. He felt satisfaction that he understood her and her choice of a name.

"Well, can we go see the little guy?" Galahad asked.

"Why would you want to?" Bors asked. "They all look alike, ugly, red and wrinkled." Vanora smacked him across the back of his head. "What? They do!"

"She's probably sleeping now, but you can go see her if you want."

Galahad looked at Gawain. "You want to go?"

"No," said Gawain. "Like Bors said - red, wrinkled and ugly. You've seen one you've seen them all."

"I'll go with you, Galahad," Lancelot said as he got up. "I need to get out of here anyway." He left without another glance at Tristan, who was shooting daggers into Lancelot's back with his eyes.

Tristan turned to Vanora. "What did you tell her?"

"Excuse me?" Vanora turned her cool gaze to the scout. She was still angry with him for the way he'd spoken to her earlier.

"When I didn't come in to see her, what did you tell her?"

Vanora snapped, "She never asked." Then she turned to Bors and said, "let's go for a walk, love. We won't be here much longer, so one more time around this place, what do you say?"

Bors chuckled. "Maybe we can find a few places where we haven't made love."

Vanora slapped him lightly. "Sshh! You're a bad man, you know that?"

"Mmmmm," Bors rumbled and buried his face in her neck. "But that's why you want me so much."

Vanora giggled and wrapped her arms around his waist as they strolled away together.

Gawain heaved a heavy sigh and stood up. "Well, Tris, I'm off to find a wench that you haven't sent to the infirmary." He slapped the scout on the back and walked away.

Tristan sat there for a moment, and then got up. No point in sticking around here. As he left the tavern, he noticed people gathering at the wall. Wondering what the attraction was, he climbed up to join the others there and looked in amazement at the size of the army that camped on the other side.

TBC

Not sure if Tristan's anger worked in this one - maybe too angry? I think he's volatile but maybe I overdid it a bit.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ailis-70:** Thank you so much for your kind words. Upon Cardeia's recommendation I read your first story, and have started on the second. I like them very much. I also wanted to say that while we see Tristan much the same there are other similarities. Metallica, Disturbed, Godsmack. For my part I must also add Audioslave. I was in the Army for 4 years and in fact I was going to mention in my review of Cardeia's story an incident very similar to one you related. One of the guys' best friends died back at home. He was having a very hard time of it and started to break down. As the lone female in this group, I was ushered out. Guys closing ranks and all that. I'm so glad you like my story and honestly every time I go to post I'm scared silly. Hope you like this chapter. I'm rather fond of it.

**dellis:** Thank you for your thoughts and honesty. I think it's too bad that the filmmakers did not give us more to go on than our imaginations. My feeling is that while Tristan would not treat a more "honorable" woman in such a way, he would feel a prostitute/bar wench is there for a purpose, a service that he paid for. And that while rough and brusque, I'm not sure I would consider it abusive, at least in context. Now, if he went home to his wife and did the same thing I'd say he had a really big problem.  Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

**LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Here's the update. Hope you enjoy it.

**BlackPaintedWhite:** Yeah, it's possible I overdid it a bit – we all have our notions of what these characters are like and I'll hopefully come close most of the time to what others think.

**Cardeia:** Thanks for your input – I take a lot of what all of you say into consideration when I go over the chapters I haven't yet posted. I do like to write the humor and the lighter stuff, and there are some things later on in the story that I'm quite fond of. The story can be a little dark but I try to lighten it up a bit at intervals. I liked writing the knights as being a bit out of their element with the baby stuff. Of course, Bors is an old hand at it. Quite the softy though, so I could see him being torn up over Vanora's labor pains, but lusty enough to soon forget. Yes, Lancelot is a big flirt, and he is pretty much harmless. I think Lancelot likes Damara and sort of naturally flirts with anything in a skirt, but his heart is really reserved for Guinevere. Poor guy. Of course, in your story he is so wonderful with Cerys and I just love those two. I actually think you do humor quite well, along with everything else that you write. You are very, very talented.

**Miggyrow:** Sorry things haven't been going well for you lately; I hope everything is okay now. I'm so glad you like the story and I hope you continue to do so. Every time I post a chapter I sort of think it's going to be crap. I always hesitate before hitting that submit button, but I am very gratified to hear that there are some out there who look forward to my scribblings.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

**Rating:** M for mature content, but not really in this one.

Galahad and Lancelot knocked lightly on the door, and then quietly pushed it open. "Damara?" Lancelot said in a soft voice. He looked at Galahad. "She's probably sleeping."

Galahad nodded. "Let's just take a quick look and then leave," he said. Lancelot rolled his eyes but nodded his head in assent. He wasn't horribly interested in babies. He had really just wanted to leave the tavern and get away from Tristan before something happened that he would regret.

Quietly the two knights crept into the room. Damara lay in the bed, with a small mound in swaddling lying on her chest.

Galahad tilted his head to get a look at the little bundle. He looked at Lancelot and gave him his verdict. "Bors and Gawain were sort of right," he said softly.

"Right about what?" came a sleepy voice.

Flustered, Galahad looked at Lancelot. He opened his mouth to say something, but had no idea what.

Smooth as always, Lancelot took over. "They said that your baby was likely very beautiful, if he took after his mother at all."

In reply he received an amused giggle. "Somehow I doubt that is exactly what was said. The only ones who think newborns are beautiful are usually their mothers." She sat up laboriously and turned the baby so that Galahad could see him more fully. She smiled impishly at him and asked, "But what do you think?"

Galahad looked at Lancelot for help but this time none was forthcoming. The dark knight stood there with an expectant look on his face and a glint of humor in his eyes.The child somewhat purple in color, grimaced as if some mighty internal struggle was taking place. Galahad was a bit taken aback. Finally he said, "I'm sure he'll be a fine looking lad when he gets older."

There was a quick snort of laughter from Lancelot and Galahad's face turned pink as he realized he'd put his foot in it. While Damara tried to look offended, she failed miserably and a merry peal of laughter rang out.

Galahad shot a look at Lancelot, who was clearly enjoying his brother knight's discomfiture. Damara saw the look of consternation on the young knight's face and when he turned to leave her laughter died away. "Don't go like that, Galahad," she said, still amused. "I've made you uncomfortable and I'm sorry for laughing at your expense."

Galahad turned back around, mollified by her words though he noticed Lancelot still wore a smirk on his face.

Damara held out her hand to Galahad, and he stepped forward to take it in one of his own. "It was very kind of you to come by to see us and I thank you for that." With a smile, she squeezed his hand and let it go.

With his dignity intact, Galahad inclined his head in acknowledgement and bid her a good night. As he walked out the door, he glared at Lancelot, whose sounds of amusement followed him out into the hall.

"I would not normally have done that," said Damara "You're a bad influence on me."

Lancelot laughed. "I don't think you need any influence of mine," he said. "You seem to take to it quite naturally." He stepped closer to look at the baby, since it was only polite. "May I see him?"

Damara held him so that Lancelot could see. The knight leaned forward, considering the very small bundle before him. How impossibly fragile was this tiny life. "He's so small," said Lancelot.

"Isn't he?" Damara said. She gazed at her child for a moment. He was so very small and completely dependent upon her for everything. If something happened to her – gods, what if something happened to her – what would become of him? There was no one else. She was completely and utterly alone, and the realization overwhelmed her. Tears began to fill her eyes, and she squeezed them tightly in an attempt to hold them back.

"What is it?" asked Lancelot, squatting beside the bed to look into her face.

Damara smiled through her tears. "Nothing – just a new mother's silliness." She exhaled sharply and turned the subject to Lancelot. "I wanted to apologize to you for what I said the other day." At Lancelot's questioning look she continued. "About Arthur and Guinevere. Your feelings on that are your own and I should not have pried at them."

Lancelot nodded, accepting her apology. Her words had weighed on his mind at first, but had been forgotten with Dagonet's death and all that had occurred since. His thoughts on that matter disturbed him and had remained largely unexamined. He worried that his feelings were so transparent, however. He would have to guard against that.

Damara had been watching his face and said, "Do not worry that you wear your heart on your sleeve for all to see. It is my habit to observe people closely and I often see things that others don't."

Lancelot felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. How had she known he'd been thinking that? "Are you a witch that you read people's minds?"

A smile twitched on Damara's lips. "Of course not. It is merely a natural conclusion that you would wonder, and I only sought to reassure you."

Not wholly convinced, Lancelot merely nodded at her, eyes regarding her warily.

Damara thought it was time for a change of subject before she once again frightened the dark knight away. "Have you seen Tristan? I asked for him earlier but maybe Vanora forgot to tell him."

Damara turned her gaze from him to the newborn in her arms which relieved Lancelot because he was about to lie to the healer. He did not want her probing eyes on him as he did so. "Arthur has had him occupied. I am sure he will be in to see you as soon as he can get away."

Damara nodded and then spoke hesitantly. "Is Tristan all right?"

"He is fine," said Lancelot. "Why would he not be?"

"He seemed…unlike himself today. In the hallway," Damara said carefully.

"You were frightened," Lancelot guessed.

Damara nodded. "There was so much blood, and he looked so wild," she said. "It was unnerving."

"I imagine it was," Lancelot said. "For you are not accustomed to the blood lust a man can fall into during battle." Lancelot hoped that the explanation he gave would ease the girl's mind regarding Tristan. Though Lancelot had his own worries about the scout, he was not about to discuss them with Damara. "Tristan is a good man. I trust him with my life - we all do."

Damara nodded, reassured somewhat by the dark knight's explanation . As he said, she was unfamiliar with what occurred on a battlefield. What a horrible thing was battle, to turn a man into such? She looked at Lancelot with new eyes. Here was a smiling jokester, a shameless flirt. He also was a warrior, a very fearsome one if people were to be believed. Did the things he had seen and done haunt him? Did he scream at night? Had he ever looked as Tristan had, feral and covered in blood? She shivered.

Seeing her shiver, Lancelot asked the healer, "And how are you faring from your experience this morning? Are you unharmed?"

"I'm fine, and very relieved that the baby was delivered safely," she said. "I haven't really had time to think about it, and not sure that I want to." She smiled at him. "Maybe it's just something better left alone."

"At least you will never be bothered by that man again," Lancelot said. He hesitated and then said, "if you don't mind my asking – who was he?"

Damara gave Lancelot a measured look. He was merely asking, not insinuating or joking as he had been before. "He was just a man who thought I should belong to him," she said simply.

Lancelot was about to request a further explanation when Gawain stuck his head in the door.

"Lancelot? You need to go to the wall right now. There's something you need to see."

ooooo

Tristan and the other knights were clearing out their things. The Roman detachment would be leaving the next morning along with the knights who were to escort the family of Marius Honorius to safety.

The mood of the knights was a somber one. Fifteen years here and it all boiled down to one night to pack up and get ready to leave. They'd thought they were more than ready, but this place had been their home. With the bad times there had also been good, and the place was full of memories. But it was more than just that - Arthur had decided to stay and lead the Woads into battle against the Saxons. They were heavy-hearted at the thought of leaving their commander, but he was as free as they were to leave and make a good life for himself. It was a choice he had made on his own.

Bors had just returned from making arrangements for Vanora and the children to accompany him. "You've got anyone that wants to go, you'd better move," he said. "There is almost no room left for anyone."

The knights looked at Tristan. "What?" he growled at them.

A mumbled chorus of "nothing" was the answer he received.

Tristan continued hurling the few belongings he had into his trunk. He knew what was on the other knights' minds. Damara was. She was in no position to secure her own passage from the wall and certainly was in no shape yet to walk. Someone would have to arrange passage for her, and it was looking like that someone would be Tristan. He looked around. Where was Lancelot? The one time his interference would have been of use, and he was gone - taking council with Arthur.

He slammed the lid of his trunk. Very well – he could do this one last thing. He could go see the girl, arrange for her passage to safety and be done with the entire matter. He stalked from the room after a glowering look at the other knights.

When he got to Damara's room, he took a deep breath. How was she going to react to him? Would she back away, avoid looking at him? Why did he care so much, anyway? He could feel the flutter of nerves in his stomach and he felt a surge of irritation. With a low growl, he entered her room. Damara was standing at the window, looking out. In her arms, she held her new son.

She heard him enter the room, and turned around. Upon seeing him she called his name and smiled at him, a smile full of warmth and happiness. His breath caught in his throat but he kept his tone cool.

"I'm going to arrange passage for you to leave here with us tomorrow. The Saxon army stands on the other side of the wall, waiting to attack. You won't be safe here."

She shook her head. "No, I'm staying here."

"You can't," Tristan said, disbelieving. "You'll be killed – Arthur may well not succeed against that army. If they take the wall, they will kill everyone here."

She walked over to the bed and put the sleeping baby down. "I'm staying," she said with finality.

Tristan didn't understand, but knew from the tone of her voice that she would not be persuaded. Maybe it was the thought of being in his presence again that made her want to stay. He'd thought she was happy to see him, but who knew with women? Bitterly, he asked, "Do you still think I'm the kindest man you've ever met?"

She looked at him, puzzled. Then she remembered she'd told him that the first night they met. "What does that have to do with anything? And yes, Tristan - I owe you my life –"

"I didn't ask you that!" Tristan's voice was tortured. "I saw the look on your face after I killed him. For you, I killed him. And you looked at me like I was a rabid animal. So I'm asking – what do you think of me now? Do you still think I'm a kind man?"

"Rabid animal? I would never think that of you!" she cried. "All that blood – yes, it frightened me. But Lancelot told me that men are like that in battle, and helped me to understand. You saved me from someone who has haunted me for a long time. And I am grateful to you for that."

"I don't want your gratitude!" he spat.

"Then what DO you want from me?" she cried in frustration.

His eyes blazed at her. "You don't know?"

She stared back at him, caught in his gaze for a moment before she cast her eyes downward. She'd seen that look before in the eyes of men, and knew what it meant. "You think I owe you for all you've done for me?"

Tristan went cold. "You actually believe that of me?"

She stood there in silence, looking at her feet. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Answer me!"

"I don't know!" she shouted. "I don't want to think that of you. I want to believe…"

"What?" asked Tristan. His heart was pounding. What was she trying to say? Softly he said, "what do you want to believe?"

She closed her eyes, tears running down her face. "Knowing what you know about me, how could you want me? How could you see me as anything other than ugly and soiled?"

Tristan's heart lurched. Was that truly how she saw herself? He took her face in his hands. Damara tried to pull away, refusing to meet his gaze. "Look at me," the scout said.

"I can't."

"My love…look at me."

At his words, Damara hesitantly brought her eyes up to meet Tristan's. He continued, "I could never see you that way. You are in my heart. I don't know how, but you somehow got in there and I can't get you out. And the gods know that I have tried."

Damara looked at him, disbelieving. Was he toying with her? No, he wouldn't, not Tristan. Her eyes searched his for the truth and found it. Incredibly, he did care for her. And she looked into her heart and knew that she loved him – this gentle, kind, wild man.

"Tristan... " His very name was beautiful to her.

He looked at her, hopeful, yet full of fear. A man who feared none on the battlefield, yet dreaded mere words from a woman's mouth.

"I love you," she whispered.

At first Tristan wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. She loved him? He looked down into her eyes and saw the unshed tears; the look of hope. His hands cupped her face and slowly his lips descended upon hers. Startled, she pulled back, but slowly warmed under the gentle insistence of his kiss. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close.

If this was happiness, then he was happy, something he could never really remember having felt before. Maybe he wasn't himself anymore, but then maybe he didn't need to be. His servitude was over; his life would change. Why could he not change along with it? He pulled back and looked into her beautiful face.

"I have to go, and find room for you and little Bran with someone. But wait here - I'll be back as soon as I can for you," he said.

Damara's heart sank and the smile faded from her face. "Tristan – I told you that I am not leaving here. There is going to be a battle – I'm a healer. I have to stay."

Tristan couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The Woads have healers of their own. You don't have to stay!" Tristan said forcefully. "To hell with those filthy savages!"

Damara drew herself up to her full height and her eyes blazed. "Those filthy savages you speak of are where I come from! Do you think because I stand before you clean and fully clothed that I have always been thus? They are my people; you would have me abandon them?"

"I would have you come with me. I would have you safe in my arms." Tristan's voice broke slightly and he hated himself for that. It felt like pleading.

Tears streaming from her eyes, Damara simply shook her head. "I can't."

Tristan looked at her, then in pain and anger he turned and began to walk out of the room. Damara hurried after him.

"Tristan. Tristan, please!" She caught his arm and he shook her off, but he stopped to hear her out. "I can come to you after. We will be together, but right now I have to stay."

He rounded on her. "You stay then, if that's what you want. Die, if that's what you want. Just know – this time I won't be here to save you. Come morning, I will be leaving," he stated with finality. He walked to the door and stopped. In a softer voice he said, "if you change your mind, you know where I am." Then he was gone.

Damara sank to the bed, sobbing. More than anything, she wanted to leave with him, to be by his side. But there was a feeling that she could not ignore – she had to stay, and didn't know why. Damara just knew it was more important than anything that she be here. How she wanted to ignore those feelings and run after Tristan – tell him she'd go with him wherever he would take her. If she let him go, she took the chance of never seeing him again. The healer wished she could explain to Tristan why she had to stay – but how, when she didn't truly know herself?

She pulled little Bran against her and fell asleep, crying inconsolably.

ooooo

The caravan departed on schedule the next morning. Though Tristan had looked hopefully for Damara up until they left, he did not see her. She had not even come to say good-bye, he thought bitterly. She had said she loved him, and last night he'd believed it but her actions spoke to him much more loudly than her words.

The mood of the departing knights was subdued. Finally, they were leaving this horrid place but they were leaving a brother behind to fight alone. It didn't sit well with any of them, but this was what they had waited fifteen long years for – their freedom. When the Saxon drums began to pound the knights' horses fought to answer the call to battle. The knights looked at each other – they heard that same call. For fifteen years they'd had no choice, but this time they did. What kind of joy would freedom bring for them, knowing they'd abandoned Arthur, the man who had led them, cared for them for so long? Of their own free will, they made the choice to stand with Arthur and answer this last call to battle.

ooooo

Damara had watched the caravan leave from the window of her room. Watching Tristan, her eyes drank him in as if they'd never see him again. How she ached to go to him, to make things as right as she could between them. But she did not dare. She knew that one look at his face and her resolve would crumble like old parchment. And there were preparations to be made.

She went through her medicine bag – it was not as well stocked as she would have liked. The healer decided to visit the infirmary and see what supplies she could rummage from there. With Bran gathered up in her arms, she started down the hallway and passed the room where Tristan had recently lived. Curious, she entered it andlooked around. There was a single bed in the room – his bed. Maybe she would take this room as her own. Damara longed to be close to him, even if lying in this bed was as close as she would ever be to him again.

Damara shook herself. There would be time enough for this later. As she headed towards the infirmary, the Saxon drums began to beat. She felt a queasy roll in her stomach; her heart began to pound. It was beginning. She dreaded finding out what the day was going to bring. Whatever it was, she hoped she was up to the task.

As she stood there listening to the drums, she suddenly fell to her knees. The blood left her face and she could not breathe. Tristan was coming back. He was coming to stand at Arthur's side. And he would meet his death on the battlefield.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Ailis-70** and **LANCELOTTRISTANBABY**: Thanks for reviewing. Well, here is the next chapter and I hope you like it. There were two things that I thought should not have been done in the movie, and I decided since it's my fanfic I will correct anything I didn't like. So I hope you enjoy this.

**Disclaimer:** I write for my own amusement, not for profit (obviously), yadda, yadda, yadda.

**Rating:** The story is rated M, the individual chapters will range anywhere from PG to M. So there you go. Anything that might be offensive I will put an extra warning on.

**The previous chapter ended with Damara having a premonition that Tristan is coming back for the Battle of Badon Hill and that he will die on the field of battle. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming:**

Damara fought the urge to dissolve into hysterics. Tristan was supposed to be safe; he was supposed to be on the road leading away from Hadrian's Wall. Instead he had somehow changed his mind and that decision would be the death of him.

Damara tried to tell herself that she worried for no reason – that she was being foolish. How could she know for certain that Tristan was coming back, never mind that he would die today? But she did. In her bones, she knew. And she was determined that she would change his fate.

Her mind raced as she frantically tried to decide what to do. Her first priority was to find someone to care for Bran for a while. She needed to be able to direct her full attention to the tasks at hand today. He would have to be safe and well cared for if she were to be able to concentrate.

She hurried from the fortress. The people from her village had set up a camp when they'd arrived, and she hoped that they had not all left when the Romans did. While she had been shunned by many of them, she also knew and had treated most of them at one time. As sad as it was, these people were the closest thing that Damara had to family. And she could not believe that in times like these, her plea for help would be rejected.

She saw Ganis directing a work crew in preparations for battle. He'd always been one the villagers had looked to, and since leaving the estate he had really come into his own. He'd also been a kind man, always. She hoped that he would be appreciated and rewarded.

"Ganis!" she called to him.

He looked around to see who was calling him. When he saw Damara, he came over to see her. "What are you doing here, girl? I thought you'd left."

"No, I am staying. I thought there would be need of my services after the battle."

He nodded. "I'm sure there will be, though I wish there weren't. What can I do for you?"

"I need someone to watch my son for me. Is your sister still here, or did you send her away?"

Ganis replied, "The very young and the elderly are going to the forest to stay in the Woad village. It is hidden and well protected, so I am told. She goes with them, since her child is only three months old."

A sense of urgency gripped Damara. "I'm sorry Ganis – I have very little time. Do you know where Deirdre is right now?"

"Helping to gather supplies. Look over in that storehouse; that is where I last saw them."

Damara thanked him and left hurriedly. Poor Bran was getting fussy, and needed to be fed. She just wished she had more time. She stopped and opened her shirt. Once Bran was happily feeding, she went about finding Deirdre, Ganis' sister.

She entered the storehouse and found Deirdre, who was willing to watch little Bran for as long as Damara needed her to. "I hope to come and get him tonight, but it may be longer depending on how many wounded there are," said Damara.

"I have milk enough for the both of them so never you mind. Take as long as you need," said Deirdre.

Damara reluctantly handed over Bran, who had finished feeding and fallen asleep. She took out the coin that had been given to her by Lancelot, what now seemed like years ago. As she proffered it to Deirdre, she looked her in the face, pleading with her eyes. "Please, treat him well. I know he is nothing to any of you, but he is all I have."

Deirdre looked ashamed. She and all the other children had tormented strange, quiet little Damara when they were young. Damara's own father hadn't wanted her around, too much like her mother's Woadish family for his taste. He would beat her for any offense, always trying to rid her of the things that made her who she was. If there was nothing else to do, teasing Damara until she cried had always been a fun pastime for the children. Deirdre had grown up and left the cruel little child that she had been far behind, but she knew that many of the others had not.

She was quiet for a moment and then said, "Keep your coin. I'm sorry for the way you've been treated – we were children then and did not know better. But we all grew up and many of us still do not know better. I am not among them. And the shame of it is when we've needed your aid you've never refused any of us, no matter what offenses we committed." She looked at Damara, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Your child will be safe with me. I will treat him as my own and will protect him with my life. I give you my word."

Damara was touched and surprised by the woman's apology and smiled warmly at her. She gripped Deirdre's hand and thanked her. Then she said, "I must leave now – I wish you a safe journey. I'll come get him as quickly as I can."

Deirdre turned away with the baby and Damara's heart tore in pieces. It was too soon to be away from him, much too soon. But she knew he was in good hands and resolved to put her worry aside. She still had Tristan to worry about.

She was still weak and sore from childbirth and knew that she would have to take it easy or she would find herself of no use to the scout when he would need her most. Her child now well taken care of, she was free to concentrate on Tristan. She went to make preparations.

ooooo

When the battle started, Damara ran to the wall and climbed the battlements, searching for any sign of Tristan. She nervously watched the stairway, but Ganis and the others seemed to be holding it against the Saxons. She had replenished her medicine bag as best she could and had changed her clothing.

She was dressed all in white – she had been compelled to wear white, and now did not question any of her intuitions. She would follow them unflinchingly, for she would need every advantage if she were to save Tristan.

She had looked through clothing that had been left by behind by Vanora. Unable to take everything when they left, Vanora had said she could have anything she desired from their hut. There were baby things there that would come in handy, but Damara doubted anything of use or value would still be left by the end of the day. She'd seem some people looting already. The knights were gone, the place was in confusion – who was there to stop them?

Damara did not understand why she'd needed to change her clothes, but had some idea. Her white apparel would be a beacon, Damara thought. Tristan would see her standing on the battlements and she could warn him.

Looking down now at the chaos beneath her she thought what a foolish idea that had been. How incredibly naïve. She was staggered by the sheer size of the conflict that roiled at her feet – how could she have thought it would be as simple as Tristan seeing her and being magically saved? Her knight was somewhere down there in the madness that churned below, and she could not even find him, never mind warn him.

The sight of the battle horrified her - how could people do such things to each other? Occasionally she caught a glimpse of a knight whose face she knew. But in that teeming mass of bodies hacking and slashing at each other, it was never Tristan. She was growing increasingly frantic. Time was running short - she could feel it.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a stillness on the battlefield. A place of wide berth, that the other warriors avoided. Directing her gaze, she saw something that made her heart stop. In the center of that stillness was Tristan and a Saxon warrior – the sight of whom filled her with dread. This was the man who would stop her love's heart from beating if she could not prevent it.

"Tristan!" she screamed, her voice cracking with the effort. 'You fool!' she thought. Even if he could hear her, she would only distract him.

In despair she realized that he would never hear or see her where she stood on the wall. She would have to go out there. Her knees turned to water at the thought of stepping onto that blood-soaked field - she couldn't do it. She herself would be killed. People were blindly hacking at each other, chopping off heads and limbs, eviscerating each other – this was a world she was terrified to step into, a task she was unequal to.

She didn't know if she could find it in herself to help Tristan. But if she did not she knew he would die. 'If you don't do this, you will spend the rest of your life knowing you never even tried,' she told herself. 'You will live in torment and you will deserve every minute of it.'

She closed her eyes, gathering herself. 'Don't think…just move.'

She ran towards the stairs that were being held by Ganis. "Ganis!" she screamed. "I need to get down there!"

"No – you're crazy! Stay where you are!" he shouted back as incredibly, he fended off two large Saxons.

"Ganis, please! Now, or it will be too late!" Damara was growing frantic.

He jerked his head in assent, and she got behind him. He worked his way down the stairs, clearing a path for her. She kept alert, ducking and dodging axes and swords. When Ganis got her through the gate, she threw him a grateful look and took off at a dead run.

She didn't think – if she stopped to do that she would lose her nerve. Her eyes remained fixed on the place where she had last seen Tristan, and she worked her way towards him, hoping that she would not be too late. Damara did not think about what she would do once she got there, but trusted that her intuition would guide her.

ooooo

Lancelot had lost count of how many Saxons he had killed. Dozens, maybe more. He was untouchable on the field - taking out first this enemy and then that one. Even the second in command of this army had been less than he had expected. He dispatched yet another Saxon and then turned to see who was next.

A flash of white caught the corner of his eye – were his eyes deceiving him, or was it a woman, running across the battlefield? He turned back to see, but she was gone, if she had ever truly been there. Suddenly he grimaced at a stabbing pain that went through his upper arm. He looked down to see an arrow deeply embedded in his left arm. He looked up and saw the shaven Saxon that he had so easily dismissed, holding a crossbow.

The Saxon's face contorted in anger when he saw that he had missed his mark. Lancelot realized that had he not turned to see the phantom in white, the arrow would have pierced his chest. He was not dead, but he had lost the use of his left sword-arm for the time being and in fury he hurled a sword at the man who had cost him that arm. With satisfaction he watched the Saxon die - impaled by the sword that met its mark. He retrieved it and continued fighting at Guinevere's side.

ooooo

Damara kept running, oblivious to all but her need to get to Tristan. She took no note of the horrors around her for; if she did, she would dissolve in terror. Her eyes were on the big Saxon, for she no longer saw Tristan. She prayed to whatever deity would listen that she was not too late.

As she ran up to them, she cried out. Tristan was down, whether dead or badly injured, she did not know. The Saxon loomed above him and bent to pick him up. Damara saw Tristan move and knew that he still lived. But not for long - the Saxon meant to finish him off.

In blind panic, Damara ran towards the Saxon and slammed into him as hard as she could. "No!" she screamed.

Cerdic turned to see who had interrupted his kill. Mild surprise registered on his face – this was no fierce Woad warrioress, it was simply a small insignificant woman who had no business being on his battlefield. He swatted her like an insect and she landed, dazed, some feet away.

The healer watched in horror as the huge Saxon turned his attention back to Tristan. She was unable to move. Damara had exerted herself too much, too soon after the birth of her child, and was dizzy from the blow to the head that the Saxon had dealt her. Though she tried to get up, she was unable and fell back to the ground. Tears born of impotent fury fell from her eyes. She watched helplessly as the Saxon prepared to deal Tristan his death blow. Sobbing in anguish, Damara wanted to look away, but to do so would be to abandon the knight entirely. She would watch as he died – he would not be alone.

Suddenly a large form rushed past her and dealt the Saxon a mighty blow. The big man dropped Tristan and turned to see who had dared to interrupt him yet again. It was Arturius Castus himself, come to aid his embattled comrade. An unholy light gleamed in the Saxon's eyes as he engaged Arthur. Damara watched the combatants as she crawled towards Tristan – Arthur was magnificent in battle; in his fury over his fallen man.

Tristan lay, watching his hawk circle him overhead. He hoped that she would have a good, long life – find a mate to hunt and raise young with. He thought it appropriate that the last thing he would see in this life was his beloved friend. He wished that he could look upon Damara's lovely face one last time and regretted that they had parted badly. He'd never be able to right that wrong.

He opened his eyes, determined to watch his hawk until death closed his eyes, and instead saw Damara looking down at him. 'Have I died already?' Tristan thought. 'Is this what comes after?' He started to close his eyes – content. Then his world dissolved into blackness.

"Tristan! Tristan – don't leave me! Tristan!" Damara screamed. She leaned forward and felt for his pulse. It was there, weak but still there. Frantically she yanked at his armor, fingers fumbling to loosen the straps that held it in place.

The battle was ending. Having no one else left to fight, Gawain came running up and began helping her remove Tristan's armor. She left it to his more efficient hands and turned to grab her medicine bag. She needed to get his bleeding stopped.

Once his clothing was removed, she assessed his condition. Her heart sank. So much blood lost - so many deep wounds. Would she be able to heal him? This was beyond anything she'd ever before attempted. Damara swept aside her self-doubt and determined she would simply take it one wound at a time. She called for water, and water was brought to her.

Her first task was to get him as clean as possible. She knew that after the initial injury, the biggest threat would be the festering that would follow. She cleaned and stitched, stitched and cleaned. Each wound was packed with marsh woundwort before she moved on to the next. She was barely aware of the knights around her. Gawain and Bors were caring for Lancelot, with Arthur hovering anxiously over both his wounded knights and helping where he could. Galahad sat silently, passing clean rags and getting water for Damara, threading needles when she required it.

She kept checking Tristan's pulse – it was still weak but she thrilled to the fact that he still had one. After what seemed like hours, she was finished. She was still terribly worried, but at least Tristan was stitched up and he still breathed.

Her legs were cramped and she was only able to stand with Galahad's assistance. Once he removed his steady arm she almost collapsed from weakness. While Tristan was carried off the field on a pallet, Damara was carried behind him in Galahad's strong arms.

Tristan was taken tohis room in the knight's wing. The infirmary was filled to the brim, and his room was more comfortable and private. Besides, his hawk would be able to come and go through the window. She knew that the bird's presence would be comforting to Tristan, whether he knew she was there or not.

Tristan was still and gray, and Arthur was worried. The healer had done a good job, but Arthur knew that gut wounds were very hard to survive. Almost impossible, if he were to be totally honest with himself. And it was a hard death. He went to speak to Damara, who had not left Tristan's side.

"Going out on the battlefield was foolhardy, you know that," said Arthur.

"I suppose so," said Damara. "But I could do nothing else. He was going to die and I couldn't allow that."

"I would not have even seen him if you had not been there," Arthur said. "Your white garb caught my eye and I looked to see where you were running. That's when I saw Tristan." Arthur choked with emotion. "If I had only gotten there sooner I could have saved him."

Damara put her small hand on Arthur's rough and callused one. "You did save him, though. He's not dead. He's badly injured, but he'll come out of it; you'll see."

Arthur looked at Damara. He didn't want to tell her, but he owed her the truth. "Damara – Tristan is not going to make it. The wound he has – I've never seen a man survive such wounds. The best you can do for him is to make him comfortable until the end."

Damara looked at Arthur incredulously. "You're wrong – look at him. His breathing is good, his heartbeat is getting stronger all the time." She got up. "I can't listen to this. I'm going to the infirmary – Tristan is going to need a lot of care and I should replenish my bag."

Damara fumed as she stormed down to the infirmary. She would not listen to anyone who thought that Tristan was dying, she didn't care if it was Arthur himself. It simply would not happen, because she would not allow it.

As she went through the apothecary, a Woad healer stopped her, wanting to know for whom the medicines were meant.

"They are for the knight Tristan – he recovers in his room upstairs."

The healer took the bag from her hand. "I'm sorry," the healer said. "I can't allow you to take these. Everything is running low and we can only use them for those with the best chance of survival."

Damara's eyes narrowed to tiny blue-green slits. "I am taking these and you will not stop me. If I need more later, I will come and get them," she hissed. "If there are any problems, Arthur himself will hear about it and the matter will be dealt with that way. Is that understood?"

The man drew back. "I am following Merlin's orders – you must speak with him."

"I will," she snapped. "In the meantime you will give me that bag or you will lose the hand that holds it." With that she snatched the bag away from the other healer.

"Is there a problem that I can help with?" came a calm, sage voice from behind Damara.

She turned and came face to face with Merlin. She'd never been introduced of course, but she knew who he was. She ducked her head in reverence. "On your orders, this healer will not allow me the medicines I need to care for one of Arthur's knights."

"These are indeed my orders…that which is in short supply should not be wasted on those who are dying." Merlin said, not unkindly.

"But Tristan will not have a chance without them. He must be given that chance!" Damara said.

Merlin placed his hand on Damara's head in a comforting gesture. "And how many others will die that your one knight may have a small chance to live? It is a hard thing, to have to make these decisions. But they must indeed be made."

Frustrated, Damara asked Merlin, "But you haven't seen him! You don't know. How can you judge that he cannot be helped without having seen him?"

Merlin sighed. "I know the condition of all gravely wounded here. My healers keep me apprised. There is only one knight that has been so wounded and I have been told he is beyond our help. But if it will ease your mind I will see him."

Damara bowed her head in thanks. As they made their way to Tristan's quarters, Damara told Merlin all about the scout's condition. What poultices and infusions she had used, what others she was considering. Merlin had a wealth of knowledge at his command and Damara knew he was aware of remedies that she had not even thought of.

Arthur stood up when Damara entered the room with Merlin, of all people. He exchanged a look with the Woad, andArthur's look told Merlin all he needed to know – the scout was indeed dying. To appease the girl, Merlin gave Tristan a thorough examination. He admitted to himself that her care had been very good, but the knight's condition was precarious at best. He would not survive another two days.

When he turned to speak, his heart broke at the girl's hopeful face. There was no hope. Even the herbs for pain needed to be rationed – the scout's death would be a hard one. He looked at Arthur, and saw the pain in his eyes. The Roman knew the truth, agonizing as it was. He hoped Arthur could help the girl accept it. Merlin shook his head. "I'm sorry – there is nothing to be done for this man. He is dying."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**plzkthx101: **Thank you so much for reviewing, and for your kind words.Here is the next chapter and I hope you are not disappointed. You DID say plausible, right? You may change your mind at the end of this one. Hopefully it works though. :)

**Cardeia: **I kind of liked doing the Galahad/Lancelot stuff. I don't know why, but I sort of see Galahad as the guy everyone sort of picks on. He's so volatile and young, it just seems easy to poke at him and get a reaction. And I see Lancelot as a guy who likes to get a reaction. I realized that Tristan's injuries in the movie were very bad, even before the final death stroke. I thought it would be kind of a cheat to make them less than they were but then maybe it ends up being sort of a cheat anyway. I don't know, you all will have to decide that. I hope it works. Oh, and while I was at it, you know I had to "save" Lancelot. I hated his death perhaps more than Tristan's. I thought that there were so many things on the battlefield that were just pure happenstance that it would not be unbelievable if he were to be saved that way. Throughout the movie you see scenes where an enemy comes up behind a knight with an axe poised to cleave his skull or something, but another knight sees it and takes him out. What if that knight didn't see it? Happenstance.

**ElvenStar5**: Here is the next chapter, though as **dellis** says, you have to know if he's made it this far, he'll make it the rest of the way.I just hope you likehow it happens. I hope it's not too unbelievable. Thanks so much for the interest and for your kind review. I keep thinking I'm going to post a chapter and everyone's going to go, "no, now you've ruined it!" :)

**Disclaimer:** not making money from this, don't have money anyway, don't sue.

**Rating:** M

Damara could not accept what she was hearing. Tristan was NOT dying – he couldn't. She stood at his bedside, looking down at her beloved. Was there nothing at all that could be done for him? Merlin started to leave the room and Damara ran after him.

"Merlin! Please, a moment!"

He turned to speak to her and she went down on her knees. Beseechingly, she looked up at him. "I would speak with you, my lord. Please, just a minute of your time."

"Of course I will speak with you, child. But get up off your knees – I am no Roman to demand servitude." Merlin protested, but he was pleased with her show of respect. Turning his people over to Arthur's leadership had been a risky move. Merlin held power, but knew that it could dissolve in the future. The respect of the people would be important to his continued relevancy.

"You say that Tristan will die, but is there nothing that can be done for him? I am willing to do whatever I must. My knowledge is basic, but yours is vast. Surely there are some remedies that can be tried," entreated Damara.

Sadly, Merlin shook his head. "Child, there are none. You must accept that there are some injuries that cannot be overcome."

"I will not accept that. As long as he breathes I will fight for him." Damara was quiet for a moment and then went on. "Merlin…My mother spoke of you to me. She said that you have…influence…far beyond that of most men."

Merlin watched the girl silently, waiting for her to go on.

Damara swallowed. "I beg for Tristan's life. I am prepared to pay any cost that is required of me if he can be spared." She went on. "I was told that he was returning here to fight, that he would die, told so that I could save his life. Why would such knowledge have come to me, if it were for nothing?"

Interest flickered in the depths of Merlin's eyes. "You were told – by whom?"

Damara told him of the feelings she'd had; the intuition that led her and the actions she had taken. Merlin questioned her closely and Damara answered him fully. He fell silent for a time and then spoke.

"What you ask of me is not easily done." Hope sprang to life in her breast, but she fought to contain herself. Merlin went on. "I can only ask, and there is no guarantee of the answer, do you understand?"

Damara nodded.

Merlin continued. "You have said you will pay any price and you will be bound to that. I want you to think on that carefully before you agree. I cannot say what will be asked of you, for I do not know."

Eagerly, Damara agreed to Merlin's terms. The sage held up his hand.

"Consider that the price may be higher than you wish to pay."

The possibilities of what Merlin could want were endless – Damara had no time to consider them all. She would deal with his demands when they arose. And she could not think of a price she would not pay. "I agree. And thank you, my lord." She took his hands in hers and kissed them.

Merlin's eyes twinkled. "Go to your knight, treat him as you have been. I will come to you later with your answer."

Damara sat by Tristan's bedside. The knights came and went, seeking to spend their last moments with their dying comrade. Damara withdrew when they visited to give them privacy. They'd been with him for many years and she'd only known him a few days. It hardly seemed possible that it had been such a short time.

Throughout the night she maintained her vigil. She was bone tired, but forced herself to stay awake. She changed his dressings, spooned small amounts of water between his lips. He did not yet burn with fever, but she prepared an infusion of Goat's Rue for use at the first sign of one. She spoke to him, hoping that her voice would help to keep him with her.

Just before dawn she heard a footstep at the door. She looked up to see Merlin standing there. He looked tired and worn, but he nodded to her.

"His death is no longer guaranteed, but neither is his survival. You will need to fight to keep him here. Use every piece of knowledge that you possess – you will need it. I will be available to you if you have need of me." With that, he walked away.

Damara was elated. From that time on, she did not leave Tristan's side. She sent for her son and all her time was spent on the care of either Bran or Tristan. She made infusions and poultices that she knew would help and experimented with the variations, adding more of this, less of that. She slept next to the knight, with her hand on his chest. It comforted her to drift off to sleep feeling the ever-steadier beat of his heart. She was sensitive to his every movement and every sound. When the rising heat in his body awakened her she was able to start tending to his fever immediately. The knights still came to visit, becoming less mournful and more hopeful each time. Many days passed and while he did not regain consciousness, he did not seem to get worse.

The knight had another visitor. Damara had placed one of Tristan's gauntlets in the window in the hopes that the hawk would see it and come to investigate. On the second day, she appeared. Slowly, carefully, Damara placed Tristan's other gauntlet on her arm. While speaking softly, she carefully approached the creature. After some hesitation, the hawk stepped onto Damara's arm.

Damara carried her over to Tristan's bed and ran his hand over her feathers. She hoped that the hawk's presence would help strengthen him. She asked the knights to set up a stand so that the bird could perch near Tristan if she wished, and was happy when she began to use it often. Damara would talk to the bird, trying to get her to chatter back so that Tristan could hear. While the hawk tolerated Damara's attentions and would not bite; she also did not enjoy being held and petted by her. Her affections were devoted solely to Tristan.

Damara made sure Tristan was kept clean, bathing him regularly and attending to his personal hygiene as needed. She worked his legs and arms to avoid stiffening of the limbs. Every scar on his body, every rippling muscle, became familiar to her. The knights would assist her in turning him so he did not get bedsores, but the bulk of the physical labor was hers.

As Damara spent all her time caring for Tristan and her son, she spent none on herself. She became thin and wan, and was in danger of losing her milk. She was happy the day Vanora came back and filled Tristan's room with sunshine. While Vanora could not get the healer to leave Tristan's side, she did provide company for her and encouraged her to eat better. Vanora's visits always brightened her day and she looked forward to them.

Damara enjoyed the visits of the knights and she especially took delight in Lancelot's company. He was humorous, sly and charming. He regaled her with tales of the knights' exploits, though she suspected they were drastically edited for her benefit. She knew there were women – with men such as these there were always women – and yearned to ask about Tristan. Did he have many women? Who were they? Had there been anyone special? She was curious about his past, but refrained from indulging that curiosity.

Merlin was an occasional visitor, checking on Tristan's progress, questioning Damara on her treatment and offering suggestions of his own. She eagerly soaked up any knowledge he chose to impart, and came to regard the Woad with great affection.

One day, several weeks after Tristan's injury, Damara sat in her rocking chair, wearily feeding Bran. Lancelot was there in quiet companionship, telling tales of knights who were long gone. Damara's eyes were closed, but flew open when she heard a sudden change in Tristan's breathing. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized his eyes were open.

"Tristan – you're awake!" She hurriedly unlatched the protesting infant and handed him to Lancelot. She closed her blouse as she turned her attention to the scout.

"Tristan…Tristan, look at me." At her command, the knight's eyes focused on her. "Do you know who I am?" Tristan closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. Weakly, he replied, "D…Damar…a"

The healer was relieved. "Who is this?" Lancelot bent over, hovering in Tristan's line of vision.

"Lan…celot…" the knight sighed.

"Thank the deities," Damara cried. "Lancelot…"

But the knight was already gone, running down the hallways, with the baby still in his arms, shouting the good news. Soon the room was filled with Tristan's brother knights, who were overjoyed at the scout's awakening. Damara withdrew from the room to give them all some privacy. She stood in the hallway, looking out the window – weary and happy, feeling a great sense of relief. Tristan would be fine and she could relax her constant vigilance. She would look forward to a good night's sleep. With regret she realized that she no longer had need to sleep next to Tristan – and that he would probably prefer the comfort of having the bed to himself.

She gave the knights a few more minutes before she went back into the room to chase them all away. Tristan was still very ill and very weak. He required rest and time to build up his strength. Reluctantly the knights left, promising to return early the next morning.

Hoping to spend some time with Tristan, Damara was disappointed to see that the knight had fallen back into a deep sleep. Her disappointment was short-lived, however. She reasoned that since he was not fully recovered, it would be safest to spend one last night at his side, just to be sure. She crawled into bed beside him and went to sleep, comforted by the slow and steady beat of his heart beneath her hand.

Over the following days, Tristan's strength continued to return; however his demeanor was decidedly subdued. He seemed distracted by something, depressed. Damara tried to brighten his spirits but nothing seemed to work. He would eat, but did not seem to have much of an appetite. The presence of his hawk was the only thing that seemed to interest him. Damara wondered if she had imagined their conversation before he'd left the wall, the one in which he'd said he cared about her. It was as if the Tristan she knew was gone; replaced by this distant and troubled one.

She would ask him if there was anything wrong, but his answer was always the same. He was simply tired, he'd say. Not up to his full strength. Damara did not push him, but she knew there was more to it than he was letting on. She moved out of his room – with his health returning he did not need her full time anymore. She wept bitterly when he did not object to her doing so.

His strength slowly returned to him, but he spent much of his time out of doors, with his horse and his hawk. Damara rarely saw him anymore. The other knights had noticed Tristan's change in demeanor, and it concerned them as well.

For Lancelot's part, he was concerned just as much for Damara, as he watched her grow more and more dispirited. He liked her tremendously and was angry at Tristan's dismissive treatment of her. One day, he impulsively walked into her room to speak to her about Tristan's odd behavior. He had become accustomed to doing so when she stayed with Tristan and had never before come upon her in any way but fully dressed.

As he strode into her room, his first realization was that she was completely nude, having just stepped out of her tub. The second was that she was crying bitterly. His first thought was to flee, the second to stay and comfort her. He never got a chance to decide which was the better course of action because Damara had looked up and seen him as he came dashing in.

She wiped at her eyes with one hand, and motioned to the door with the other. She was simply too tired and dispirited to care what state Lancelot found her in. She supposed she should be mortified, but she couldn't manage to work up to it.

Lancelot was horrified. "Haven't you been eating? You're skin and bones!" He had noticed her weight loss before, but did not realize to what extent. He could easily see her ribs and her hip bones as she stood before him.

He picked up a blanket and wrapped it around her. He pulled her close to him and she wept against his chest.

"It's Tristan, isn't it?" Lancelot was furious at his friend.

"I don't know what's wrong with him – what I've done. He's just not the same man anymore," she cried.

"Well, I've had enough of the way he's been acting. The man comes back from the dead and instead of being grateful for it, he mopes around as if he'd rather have died. I'll get to the bottom of this, I promise you."

"Lancelot…please don't…" Damara started, but the knight was already leaving.

When Tristan came riding back to the stables, an angry Lancelot awaited him. "We need to talk."

Tristan's eyes flickered disinterestedly over Lancelot. "Do we? What about?"

"Your behavior, for one. Damara, for another."

Tristan's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And what do either have to do with you?"

"I happen to care for her a great deal. And you are making her miserable," Lancelot said tightly. "Have you looked at her lately? Really looked at her? She doesn't eat anymore. She is so gaunt you can see her rib bones under her skin."

Tristan looked at Lancelot. "Through her clothing?" He walked slowly towards the other knight, who just realized he'd revealed far more than he'd planned to. "Just how close did you two get during my recovery?"

"I walked in on her at her bath! That's all! She was crying and I saw how thin she was…"

"What did you do?" Tristan snarled, shoving Lancelot against the stable wall.

"I gave her a blanket and we talked! What is it you are implying?" Lancelot was outraged at the scout's lack of faith in him.

Tristan gave Lancelot a look of contempt. "You're hardly a man that I would trust with any woman of mine."

"Is she your woman? The way you're treating her, you'd never know. You did not see what she went through for you. She did not leave your side once while you were ill. And now you treat her as if she doesn't exist. Whatever your problem is – I couldn't care less. You've always been a moody bastard anyway. But you'll make things right with Damara or you'll answer to me." Lancelot turned on his heel and strode out of the stables.

Tristan was furious. Lancelot, always shoving his nose where it didn't belong. He would answer to Lancelot for nothing. The other knight was right about one thing, though he hated like hell to admit it. Tristan needed to speak to Damara. Maybe unburdening himself to her would help. But whether she could help him or not, she deserved to know.

Damara looked up, feeling a presence in her room. "Hello, Tristan." She hadn't heard him come in - the man could lurk like no other.

"Damara," Tristan said by way of greeting. He looked at her – she was thin, and looked careworn. She needed rest. The baby was at her breast, feeding contentedly. He remembered when he had woken up from his illness to see Damara feeding Bran and Lancelot sitting and talking to her. What a cozy little scene it had been.

"I spoke to Lancelot just now," said Tristan.

Damara felt a knot in her stomach. "I did not send him, Tristan. When and if you want to speak to me about what is troubling you; you will. Until then I am content to wait."

"But you're not content – look at you! Lancelot is right; you are far too thin. Do you not eat?"

"Of course I eat – feeding a child takes a lot out of a woman," she protested.

"I've seen Vanora feed eleven children and never did she get as thin as you are now," Tristan said.

Damara sighed. "Bran's healthy and I'm healthy. There is nothing to worry about. What did you want to talk about?" she said wearily.

Tristan sat down on the bed. "You know…that I haven't been myself," Tristan began. He was quiet for a moment and then said, "I've never been afraid of death. You can't be on the battlefield, or you hesitate, make mistakes. I was always ready to greet death, sometimes ran after him, but I never caught him."

Tristan stopped for a moment. He put his head in his hands and then ran his fingers through his hair as he looked up at Damara. She put her hand on his, waiting patiently.

"That day on the battlefield…with the Saxon…death found me. I'd come close to him before, but I'd never looked him in the face until that moment." He got up and started pacing the room. "I'm good, you see…I'm very good at what I do. Never before have I met my match. That day, I did. More than that, he was better than I was. I always thought I would greet death on my feet, with a smile on my face."

Damara saw tears streaming down the face of the man she loved so much, and started to go to him. He put up his hand to stop her. "Don't. Just…don't, please."

Hurt, not understanding; Damara sat back down to hear Tristan out. "After all the battles, all these years, when death came for me, what did I do?" Tristan began to choke, breaking down in sobs. "I crawled! On my belly, I crawled away from death." His voice began to rise, and in doing so, broke. "I thought I knew who I was, what kind of a man I was. At that moment, I didn't anymore. All I wanted was to live. I didn't care what I had to do…I just wanted to live."

In anguish, Damara again went to Tristan. She put her arms around him, only to be roughly pushed away. "Don't touch me!" Seeing the tears that sprang to her eyes, he said in a softer tone, "Please, just leave me be. This is hard enough."

"All I know is battle, but how can I ever face the enemy again? I never doubted myself before, now that's all I do. Everything I knew about myself has been proven false," Tristan said in anguish.

Wishing to comfort Tristan, knowing he would not allow it right now, Damara spoke to him, hoping to reach him with her words. "Tristan, my love… Lean on me and I'll help you with this. You may not know who you are right now, but I do. You're the man I love, will always love. Just please…let me help you."

Tristan turned to her, torment in his eyes, and shook his head. "I don't know where I go from here…where we go from here. I can't be with you right now – maybe not ever. I need time…and if you can't wait I'll understand."

Damara was stunned at his rejection of her - she felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach, unable to breathe. She needed to talk to him, make him see that he could get through this.

"Tristan, I know what you are feeling." He gave her a look, and she held up her hand. "Hear me out, please," she said. "I fought the soldiers that I was given to. Every time they came for me, I fought them, for all the good it did me." She looked down at her fingers and studied them. Before going on, she swallowed hard. "After a while, they eventually wore me down. I stopped fighting. It didn't matter enough anymore – I didn't matter enough. No matter what I did, it wasn't going to stop them. So I just let them do whatever they wanted. I would just lay there, hating every minute of it while some smelly soldier heaved and groaned on top of me."

She stole a look at his face, which was blank and impassive, hard to read. Then she went on. "I hated myself for that. I felt that by not fighting them I was giving them permission, that I had lost all claim to any honor that I once had. It took a very long time for me to forgive myself for what I had allowed. But eventually I did." She turned her eyes to Tristan. "I know you also feel you have lost your honor. But self-preservation is the most basic instinct there is – every living creature is born with that. When there is no thought left, there is only the will to live. And that's what you did, you wanted to live. And there is nothing wrong with that."

His face had not changed, she was not getting through to him. "It hurts now, but it will go away. What you did, what I did…in the end it's nothing. It's just what you do to survive. What matters is what you do after." She lowered her voice to a near whisper. "Please…let me help you."

Tristan could feel nothing. He wasn't ready to, and he shook his head. "I have to do this on my own, and if you stay with me you may end up getting hurt. I don't want that on my conscience as well." Tristan said. "Please, just leave me be about this. If I want you I know where you are."

Damara nodded to him, and then picked up Bran and went to the door. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. She would be damned if she would let him see how devastated she was.

"I'll be here…somewhere…if you decide…" Her voice trailed away. It was over now. After everything she'd been through, and he didn't even want her anymore.

She turned to leave and then back to look at him. "You wanted so very badly to live. So, live. Don't let it all have been for nothing."

Then she went through the door and was gone.

TBC

When I saw Tristan crawling in the movie, my heart broke. I hated it that they made him crawl and I thought it would have a devastating effect on him if he were to survive it. When I started this story I wanted Tristan to live, but then I knew he would have to deal with his defeat. So, this is my attempt to do so.


	13. Chapter 13

**Ailis-70: **How was your weekend? Hope your trip went well. I also think that the crawling would be a pretty big deal to Tristan. It was a big deal to me and I was only watching a movie, lol! He just didn't seem the type. Glad you all like the way I handled that. I think in the grand scheme of things, Damara would be low on his list of priorities. He's been a warrior forever, he's known her for like 5 minutes. There is a price to be paid, but while I've always had in my mind what it should be, the further I get into the story the more I'm not sure about it. I'm sort of in the process of writing that part now.

**ElvenStar5 - **You truly have me blushing. What a very nice, generous review. I'm pretty certain I'm far from brilliant but I think this story is decent enough so far. I don't really write - it actually sort of wears me out because it doesn't come easily to me. I just had this story in mind that started out because their deaths sort of outraged me and I wanted to correct that. Everything else just sort of grew up around that idea.

**dellis: **Thanks for the review! There's going to be a bit more for her to forgive Tristan for before it's all over with.

**LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Here's your update:)

**Cardeia,-** Wow! That was a fast review! Thank you so much for your words. I'm glad other people thought the crawling was out of character for Tristan Yes, Damara is a bit passive, but then she's been pretty beaten down over the years so standing up for herself isn't something she comes by easily. She's a work in progress, and I think she'll end up in a pretty good place. She gets a bit sick of Tristan's nonsense in the next chapter. Thank you for your compliments, but I'm not sure it's going to end up being a rich tapestry or just a big mess. Hope I don't blow it.

**Author's Note:** This chapter and the next are one chapter, but due to the size of them together I separated them at a point that I thought reasonable. Also, I'm still cleaning up the other half so here's the first half.

**Disclaimer:** The usual

**Warning:** **There is a tad bit of smut in this chapter, and quite a bit more in the next two. It's not explicit, but it does deal with sexual situations soplease avoid if that kind of thing upsets you. This has been a public service announcement. Thank you. **

**Also, angry Tristan is back. I know many people are a little "meh" with the anger, but I remember reading an interview with Mads Mikkelsen who played Tristan. He described him as basically a psycho, which didn't show up so much on the screen, but you can see if it you look for it. So, I'm going for a bit of psycho-lite if you will. On to the story:**

It had been several months since Damara's final conversation with Tristan. The pain of seeing him around the keep had been more than she could bear, and she had moved away shortly afterwards. When she had spoken to Lancelot about her desire to find another place to live, he told her of a little hut that had been abandoned during the exodus from the wall.

It was perfect for her needs. It was well away from the keep, on the edge of the forest. There had been a decent herb garden once and Damara enjoyed bringing it back to life when springtime came. There was plenty of solitude, which she craved. And best of all, there was no chance of running into Tristan there.

She heard little news from the keep. Lancelot came out to check on her from time to time and she began to look forward to his visits. Damara knew he believed that her presence on the battlefield had saved his life, and she supposed as such he felt compelled to see to her well being. His arm was not fully recovered and he used that as an excuse to come see her. She explained to him that there was nothing further she could do, that only time and exercise would bring him back to full use of his arm. Still, she was glad to see him and would examine his arm if it made him happy. Damara did not know if she had indeed saved his life or not, but was glad he had not died. She could not now imagine her life without the dark knight in it.

Though pressed by Lancelot, Damara would not speak to him of what had transpired between herself and Tristan, even though he urged her to lay her troubles on his shoulders. Tristan's problems were his own to speak of if he wished to, and Damara suspected that he would strongly object to her discussing what he had told her.

While she was not forthcoming with Lancelot, he was more so with her. Though physically Tristan was improving, he continued to spend much of his time in the woods alone. When he was in residence at the fortress, he was ill tempered and churlish. He was not open to discussing his problems with anyone; even Arthur had spoken to him with very little result.

Though she was heartsick over Tristan, Damara made a concerted effort to push her troubles out of her mind. It did no good to dwell on things that could not be helped, she thought. She took little Bran outside with her, and sang to him and danced him around the yard, on days when it was warmer. She reveled in each new thing that he did – she lived for his smiles. She adored the little baby giggles that came when she would blow raspberries on his stomach. She made silly noises and faces at him, to his utter delight. He was a child with an extraordinarily sunny disposition, and she counted her blessings.

She went to the village and the keep on rare occasion, and then only to trade for supplies and see some of the ill or injured. Few people came by her hut requesting her services. There were Woad healers now in residence at the fortress and they were closer at hand than she was. On her visits into town, she did not go anywhere that she thought Tristan might be. Unfortunately, that meant she could not go to the tavern to visit with Vanora. She missed her friend, but would not risk seeing the scout. She remembered one day catching a glimpse of him as he walked across the courtyard. She could still feel the way her heart had leapt upon sighting him, and the horrible ache after that had stayed with her for days.

Lancelot was her most frequent visitor, but even he did not come often. The other knights even less so. They, Tristan excepted, would stop by from time to time if they happened to be close by and see how she was doing. Bran very much enjoyed the company of men, and seemed especially fond of Bors. Damara reflected that while her self-imposed solitude worked for her, it might not be as good for Bran. She did not want him to grow up alone and without friends, with only herself for company. It was a dilemma, but one that she would deal with in time, for Bran was still young yet.

On one occasion Lancelot happened to visit and his demeanor was decidedly subdued. Damara simply listened to his news, asking her usual questions about the other knights and the goings on at the keep. Finally Lancelot told her that the alliance between Arthur and the Woads was going to be official – and would be sealed with a marriage between Arthur and Guinevere.

Damara now saw the reason for his demeanor. She felt for the knight, but also sensed that he was not here for sympathy. He just wanted to be away from the celebratory environment at the keep and to sit comfortably with a friend. It had been late afternoon when he arrived, and she offered to share the evening meal with him. He accepted, and they sat together as they ate, companionably talking and laughing.

The hour grew late and still Lancelot made no move to leave. Damara yawned and cast a longing eye at her bed. Bran was an early riser and she would pay dearly for this in the morning.

Lancelot saw that she wished to retire and reluctantly stood up as if to leave. Damara stood as well, and Lancelot turned to her. "Could I stay here tonight? I'd gladly sleep on the floor, or wherever you have room. I'd really prefer not to go back there." He heaved a sigh. "No doubt they will be celebrating long throughout the night."

Damara went to Lancelot and put a hand on his face. "Of course, my friend." She looked into his eyes. "You know I would take this pain from you if I could."

Lancelot enfolded her in his arms. "As I would you. I still don't know what is wrong with Tristan. Maybe he'll come around one day."

After bedding down his horse Lancelot came back into Damara's hut to find her curled up on her chair with a blanket around her. "I am not taking your bed from you," he said.

"You are my guest, you will have the bed. I often sleep in this chair anyway, and am used to it," she replied.

Lancelot threw his bedroll onto the floor and began to settle upon it. "I am not taking your bed," he said firmly.

"This is foolish," said Damara. "There is no sense in that bed going unused while you sleep on that uncomfortable floor"

"Nonetheless, that is how it will be," said Lancelot.

"Oh, very well, " said Damara with irritation. "If you will insist on being uncomfortable then I don't want to hear your complaints in the morning." She got out of the chair and went over to the bed to lay down. Once upon it, she stretched luxuriously. "Oh, this is so much better. I have the most comfortable bed, I imagine I shall sleep quite well upon it." She smiled down upon him as he shifted about on his bedroll. "Remember Lancelot, no complaints."

She blew out the lantern and settled down to sleep. She heard Lancelot tossing about in an effort to get comfortable. Then she heard a rather plaintive voice from out of the darkness. "I don't suppose we could share your bed?" the voice asked hopefully.

"No, I don't suppose we could," she said flatly. "I am no lightskirt, Lancelot, and if that is what you are seeking then you had best be on your way to warmer company."

The voice that returned was rather shocked. "That's not what I meant. I meant only to share the bed, not to…"

Damara could feel her cheeks burn in the darkness. Why had she assumed he'd wanted to lay with her? "The answer is still no," she returned.

There was a short silence. And then from the darkness, "Well, if you think the temptation would be too great for you then I guess it is best that I stay on the floor."

She answered him with silence.

"I'm shocked to find that your thoughts would even turn that way…" Lancelot began.

"Oh, do cease your prattle!" Damara replied, annoyed. "I am trying to sleep and if the only way that I can do that is to let you up on this bed, then get up here. Either way, be quiet!"

"Thought you'd never ask," Lancelot said with satisfaction. A few moments later Damara felt the bed sag under his additional weight. "Move over a bit there, will you?" he asked.

"Unbelievable," Damara muttered.

They settled in next to each other, and Damara's eyes began to close once again. Sleep was almost upon her when she heard from the darkness, "You know, if you really wanted to I wouldn't mind."

Damara sighed heavily. "Go to sleep, Lancelot."

"Well, it never hurts to ask," the knight said with a chuckle.

The next morning Damara awoke to Lancelot's arm curled around her waist, pulling her close. Unwilling to disturb him, and possibly because she enjoyed it, Damara stayed abed with him until she heard Bran's waking cry. As she fed him, she prepared breakfast for Lancelot and reflected how nice it was having him around.

When he prepared to leave, Damara went outside with him and they held each other for a long moment. He kissed her gently on her lips and thanked her for the company. As he mounted his horse, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.

He looked up on the hill above them at the edge of the treeline and saw a familiar horse, which turned and wheeled away. He looked at Damara. "Tristan," he said.

Damara's heart fell. What if he had seen them together? What would he think?

"I'll talk to him," said Lancelot. "He may not have even seen us, you know."

Damara nodded. "Thank you, my friend," she said.

The incident weighed heavily on Damara's mind. She wondered what Tristan had been doing there, above her house? Had he merely been scouting in the area, or had he been coming to see her? She hoped that Lancelot had been able to explain to Tristan what had happened, or that better yet, he hadn't seen them. The thought came to her that maybe Tristan wouldn't even care and her heart sunk at the notion.

Several days later on a particularly beautiful spring day she was delighted to see Bors, Vanora and all their crew at her doorstep. They were out on a picnic, taking the children out to play in the sunshine and splash in the nearby creek. Vanora had urged Bors to stop by Damara's house so she could come out with them. She worried about her friend and had not seen her in ages.

Bran looked in amazement at all the other children and very much enjoyed being passed around from child to child. There was always someone wanting to play with him and he reveled in it. While Damara kept a close eye on him at first, she came to realize that most of the children were more adept at handling babies than she was. She relaxed and began to enjoy herself.

She very much enjoyed the small amount of time she spent with Vanora. Vanora and Bors spent a great deal of time alone, giggling and kissing, while Damara relaxed, playing with and talking to the children. The couple disappeared together for a time and Damara grew wistful, thinking of Tristan. What would it have been like with him, if they'd had a chance, she wondered. She smiled thinking of it. He would hardly have been the giggly, kissing type. Vanora had been lucky in her choice of man. He was a good solid man, a good father. Damara envied her that.

She thought about men and realized that she was happy without one. If she spent the rest of her life alone she could be quite content. She knew that Lancelot liked her. He kept it light, but she knew that if she ever gave a sign that she was interested in him, he would not be averse to bedding her. Damara also knew that she would be yet another conquest, soon forgotten. That was something that she would never consent to being. She also valued his friendship too highly to throw uncomfortable emotions into the mix.

It was early afternoon when Bors and Vanora decided that they should head back home. It had been a nice visit, and Vanora vowed to come out again soon. When it was time to leave, Bran grew fussy and reached out for the children when Damara took him back in her arms. Vanora then offered to take little Bran with them.

"He'd be no trouble at all, and he loves the others – you can see that. You can come in to town tomorrow and get him."

Damara was doubtful – since the battle she had not been away from him.

"It'll be a treat for him, and it will be a break for you. You look tired," Vanora said.

"If you're sure you don't mind…" Damara said. Bran would hardly know that his mother was missing, she thought. She reluctantly handed him over to a pair of grasping arms – whose, she wasn't sure.

"He'll be in good hands, don't worry!" Vanora called as the wagon pulled away.

When they'd left, Damara thought about the possibilities. She hadn't been completely alone in a very long time. There was a delicious looking water hole further in the forest that she'd had her eye on. With nothing to stop her, she went and gathered her soaps and headed there.

Once at the pond, Damara enjoyed herself thoroughly. She had washed her body and hair, and was now simply enjoying floating and swimming in the pool. Envisioning herself as a water sprite, diving and splashing around, she giggled at her silliness. She would have to do this more often – it was very relaxing.

She lay stretched out luxuriously on a rock for some time, soaking up the heat of the sun. Needing to cool off, she got up and dove into the clear blue pool, touching the bottom before coming up. When she broke the surface of the water she was startled to see Tristan standing on the rock she'd so recently occupied.

Her face flamed bright red, and as she tread water she asked him, "What are you doing here?"

"Arthur sent me to get Bors and bring you in to the keep – there are Saxons nearby."

"How did you find me?" she asked, trying to put off the inevitable moment when she would have to emerge, completely nude, from the water.

In answer Tristan merely looked at her with raised eyebrow.

"Oh…right," she said. He was a scout; that was what he did. She hesitated, and with great impatience Tristan held out his hand and said, "We don't have much time."

She took his hand and he unceremoniously hauled her up out of the water, naked and dripping wet. She averted her gaze and hurried over to where her clothes were laying and began to get dressed. As she quickly occupied herself with that task, she asked Tristan, "Did Lancelot speak to you?" Hearing no reply, she turned to look at him. He was looking at her, his eyes cold.

"About what?" he asked in an icy voice.

She dropped her eyes under the weight of his glare. "Nothing," she said softly. When she was finished getting dressed, she said, "I'm ready."

Tristan nodded and led her up the path to where his horse stood waiting. Tristan's horse seemed to be much happier to see her than Tristan had been, and Damara was glad to see him as well. His ears pricked forward and he tossed his head. She gave him a quick rub on his muzzle while Tristan mounted. Once Tristan was in the saddle, he stretched out his arm to help her get on behind him, and then they started down the trail to Damara's house.

She tried to keep their body contact to a minimum; she was no more comfortable with it than she thought he would be. Even so, the jostling of the horse made her efforts less than successful. 'Gods, this will be a long ride," she groaned to herself.

They stopped at her hut, with Tristan directing her to bring her medicine bag. "We meet the Saxons at dawn, and Arthur says your skills may be needed."

As soon as Damara had everything she needed, she got back behind Tristan and they started the long ride back to the keep.

ooooo

Tristan had come as close as he ever had to refusing an order. "Send Gawain or Galahad," he'd protested to his commanding officer.

"All the knights save for you are otherwise engaged…I am sending you." Arthur stated, in a voice that brooked no opposition. "We need Bors back. The people living out that way need to be warned, and it is not safe for Damara out there, alone. We may well need her services after the battle." So Tristan left, none too happy about the situation.

ooooo

After their last conversation together, Tristan had reflected on the things Damara said to him. They made sense, but he still felt sick about that last battle. He kept seeing himself, crawling for his life, like a dog. How was that image ever going to leave his mind? He dwelled on it constantly. What could he have done differently, what moves would have defeated the Saxon? He threw himself heavily into training so that he would be prepared the next time he was called upon to fight. But with the alliance with the Woads and the lack of Saxon activity, Tristan was not getting the opportunity to prove himself and the frustration made him mean-tempered.

Then one day after several months of this he was out riding, and came upon a meadow. He gave the horse his head and they galloped across it. Tristan felt the freedom, the wind in his face and was exhilarated, as he had not been for some time. He dismounted and lay down, watching the clouds float overhead. The smell of flowers was heavily in the air, and here was his hawk come to join him. He lay on the ground, feeling contentment for the first time in a long while.

The thought struck him that he was enjoying himself. That for a short time, he had not thought about the Saxon or the battle or what would happen in the next one. He was simply enjoying life for just a little while. The realization gave him hope that maybe one day it simply would not matter any more, as Damara had said.

He wanted to share this realization. Recently he'd been missing Damara, but his pride had not allowed him to go to her. What kind of company would he have been, moping and miserable, a pathetic excuse for a man? Now, he thought he might be ready to see her. He didn't want to go and pour his heart out to her. He just wanted to see her for a moment and simply say that maybe she'd been right. He wanted to see if there was still a chance with her or if his stubbornness had driven away any good feelings she had about him.

When he arrived at her hut, he saw Lancelot's horse out front. His eyes narrowed – he had heard that Lancelot had been visiting her. Damara had to know that every woman in the keep fell over flat on her back at the snap of Lancelot's fingers. Tristan had faith that Damara wasn't stupid enough to join their ranks. At least he hoped not. He resolved to wait until Lancelot left and then go down to speak with her.

After some time, the door opened and Lancelot exited the hut. Tristan sat up. Finally – he'd wondered when the dark knight had been going to leave. He watched as Lancelot removed the saddle and bridle from his horse and bedded him down for the night. Disbelieving, he saw Lancelot go back into the hut and watched as the light blinked out.

Tristan sat there, just watching. He could see the faint outline of the house and his mind filled in for him what was happening inside. She was in Lancelot's arms, kissing him, holding him. As painful as it was, he allowed himself to envision them together, indeed he embellished it in his mind. He had been a fool to care for a woman, and he wanted this pain to burn him so that he would never care again. Damara had loved him, but what kind of faithless love would turn to another man within a few short months? How long had it been going on? Maybe she'd turned to the dark knight immediately after Tristan had broken with her. There had always been something between the two of them that Tristan had never liked.

He sat where he was until the following morning when their tender goodbye kiss told him all he needed to know. He had that image at least to remind him and he resolved to hold it close.

ooooo

He'd not spoken to Lancelot, nor did he care to. And now, here he was sent by Arthur to deliver to the keep this woman who he would happily throttle with his bare hands. He was angry and disgusted with her, but when he arrived at the pond where she frolicked naked in the water, all he wanted to do was go down there and make her forget Lancelot ever existed. He watched the movement of her water-slicked body. She had as good a form as any he had ever seen on a woman. He ached for release, but there was no time for self-gratification right now. He willed his unruly member back into submission and worked his way down to the pond.

He took great pleasure at her obvious discomfort upon seeing him standing there. When he pulled her from the water, his eyes raked her nude form. He watched every move she made, wanting to humiliate her by making her stand naked and exposed before his gaze. Unfortunately she would not look at him and didn't notice how he was enjoying the view. When she asked him if he had spoken to Lancelot his anger surged. He longed to ask her if Lancelot was supposed to tell him he'd made Damara his whore, and if soTristan was already aware of that.He held his tongue; now was not the time.

The ride back was pure torture for Tristan. He remembered the last time she'd ridden behind him, arms around his waist, head nestled against his back. This time, she obviously couldn't stand to be close to him, he thought bitterly. The only part of her body that she could not pull away from him were her thighs, tucked tight against him. He envisioned those thighs wrapped around his hips, and his ill humor increased along with the size of his erection.

His mood was positively foul by the time they arrived at the keep and he almost shoved her off his horse upon arrival, barely allowing her time to land on the ground before he was gone in a cloud of dust.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**dellis: **Thanks for reviewing. Yeah, it does kind of figure he'd cut her loose and then wonder why she's off with some other guy. Here's another chapter, and I hope you like it, but beware - Angry Tristan is back again. I've tried to explain his motivations and I hope it works for you. :)

**BlackPaintedWhite: **My character's name means Divine Cow? How funny! I'm sitting here LMAO about that. I didn't intentionally go for god/goddess names but I did go to some Celtic name websites. There were names that I liked but some of the pronunciations didn't go with the written version. For instance, I really like the name Bride as it is pronouced, Bree-dju, more or less. However, on the page it looks like, well "bride." So finally I just went - oh pick a name and be done with it. And I ended up with a Divine Cow, lol. I also want to get the theatrical version of KA - I really liked the scene with the knights in the rain and getting to know the characters a little better. I wished they had put that stuff in the DC. I haven't seen any interviews with Mads but there are a few you can read at **mads-mikkelsen net** (just put a dot in it between his name and "net". When I type it that way this thing keeps editing it out). It's not an official web site (his official one has been "coming soon" for a while now) but it is a very good site.

**KnightMaiden: **Thank you so much for reviewing. Here is the next chapter and I hope you enjoy it. I think Tristan is going to become far more deadly and fearsome in battle than he ever was before, and I think serious injuries are going to be very few and far between.So, you're not going to see him injured anymore at my hands. The poor guy's had enough I think. ;)

**Ailis-70: **Yeah, Tristan is an angry man. His character enjoys killing, so I've never seen him as particularly well adjusted. I sort of envision him as one of those kids who suffered from attachment deprivation syndrome or whatever it's called. When the kids don't get held and loved and they end up being unable to form attachments very easily. I doubt he would even be able to fall in love, but that would not suit the purposes of my story very well, would it? ;) I could be all wet about that and I would love to hear your theories on him.

**Dazzler420 - **No, Lancelot doesn't want her for himself, it's just that Tristan made himself scarce after he saw Lancelot and Damara "together". He went back to what he knows, off in the woods brooding and just generally being anti-social.

**Cardeia** - I know what you mean about writing stories being exhausting. I once wrote a poem that threw me into a depression for a good long while. Dredging up old stuff and all that. Writing doesn't come easily to me so I have to sit here and try to think how the character would feel, what they would do, how they would react, etc. Then I'll read it again and think I got it all wrong. It's sort of hard. It's easier to write about what you know, and I throw quite a bit of that in my writings. For instance I can't count how many times a fellow soldier would drink up their taxi money and show up at my door wanting a place to crash because I happened to live downtown. Invaribly they would want to share the bed or show up in my room in the middle of the night asking if I felt like having sex.I could see Lancelot having that attitude - never hurts to ask. Lancelot and his "less than lovely" girl from the second chapter - I knew guys like that. They like to pretend they're choosy, but in a world that is comprised mostly of men, a lot of times they take what they can get. Even the really, really good looking guys.

**Disclaimer** - not making any money from this.

**Warning: This chapter contains mature subject matter of a sexual nature. If you object to such subject matter, please avoid this chapter**.

**Special Thanks to Cardeia for being my beta on this chapter. Hersuggestions were invaluable as was her reassurance and support. I highly recommend her story Cerys at Knight to anybody who may not have read it yet. It is a gorgeous, incredibly well-written story from an incredibly talented author.** **Thanks, Cardeia:)**

Now, on to Chapter 14:

The knights were gone before dawn the next morning and Damara waited anxiously for their return. She'd checked her medicine bag a dozen times making sure she hadn't overlooked anything. She paced, waiting, until the cry came out that the knights were returning.

She was relieved to see that there were very few injuries, none serious. Some deep cuts, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Most of the knights took care of their own injuries since they weren't that bad. Lancelot came to her with a jammed finger, which really could have been taken care of by anyone.

"I see you're back with another near-fatal injury for me to take care of," Damara said wryly. "One might come to think that you are soft and weak."

Unable to resist, Lancelot grinned. "Oh, I'm hard enough where it counts."

Damara blushed but laughed at his audacity.

"So, I heard you came in with Tristan yesterday. How did that go?" Lancelot asked.

Damara's blush deepened and she made a non-committal response. Then she asked, "Did you not have a chance to speak with him? He seemed very angry at me."

"Tristan has not been around for me to speak to," Lancelot said. "But if he is angry I will make sure he gets the truth of it." Lancelot recalled her blush and his interest was piqued. "So…tell me what memory it is that put the color on your cheeks."

Damara sighed, exasperated. "If you must know…he came upon me while I was swimming," she said.

Lancelot raised his eyebrows. "And you were wearing…?"

Damara shot a look at him.

The dark knight threw back his head and laughed. "Oh gods…that I'd been the one sent to find you!"

Damara smacked him on the arm. "You're incorrigible!" she cried in mock outrage. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Come to me after. I have some suggestions…" Lancelot said with a sly grin on his face.

She threw him an exasperated look. "And become yet another name on your long list of lovers?

"The list may be long, but it is distinguished," Lancelot smiled.

"That's not what I've heard…" muttered Damara.

Midway through their exchange, Tristan was brought in by Gawain, who had deemed the scout's injuries to be serious enough to require a healer's touch. Tristan was reluctant to go to Damara, but he absolutely refused to see a Woad healer at the infirmary. Gawain threatened to knock him out and drag him if Tristan did not go willingly. The sour look on Tristan's face turned dark when he saw the light flirtatious exchange between Damara and Lancelot, and his suspicions over their guilt were confirmed when they quickly moved away from each other upon seeing him.

Tristan plunked himself down in a chair, and he slowly removed his tunic, which was stained with blood. Damara left Lancelot's side, concerned by the deep cut below Tristan's collarbone. She noted that he had a smaller cut on his thigh, which had bled profusely but was merely seeping now, thanks to the pressure bandage that had been placed there.

Lancelot watched as Damara examined Tristan's injuries. He was surprised that the scout had not been more badly hurt - the man had been a veritable madman on the field. Whatever demons he battled, Lancelot thought, may well end up being the death of him. He said as much. "You seemed determined to die in battle today – it would be a shame to waste all that energy Damara spent dragging you back from death's door."

Tristan turned on Lancelot. "I don't recall ever asking her to! She should have just left me the hell alone - as should you, " he snarled.

The sudden tears that sprang up stung Damara's eyes. Lancelot jumped to his feet to confront Tristan, who in turn stood up to meet him, anger spitting from his eyes.

"Whatever you may think, Tristan, I have never laid a hand on Damara, and she deserves better treatment than this from you." Lancelot said.

"I know what I saw. If you persist in treating me like a fool we can decide the matter outside," Tristan spat.

"Stop it!" cried Damara. She put herself in between the two and placed her hands on Lancelot's chest to keep him away from Tristan. After a few tense moments, Lancelot looked down at Damara.

"Go, Lancelot. I need to stitch his wounds and you're not going to be of any help."

Lancelot looked down at Damara's whose hands were still flat against his chest. He discreetly wiped away a tear that fell from her eyes. "You don't deserve this. Come out with us tonight to celebrate – we'll have fun, we'll dance," he said softly. He smiled at her. "I'm not going anywhere until you promise me."

After a short hesitation, Damara nodded. It might be nice to go out and help celebrate their victory. "But you need to go now. I'll deal with this." Damara realized that Tristan's mind about the two of them was clearly made up. Maybe he would listen to reason later, but for now she was weary of it.

After a last sharp look at Tristan, Lancelot left the room, with the others following along behind.

Tristan sat back down in the chair, his demeanor sullen. Damara brought a bowl of water and began to clean the blood away.

"So, you seek to prove yourself on the battlefield again?"

"I seek to replace the images of that battle with images of my enemies bodies."

"Lancelot seems to think you take foolish chances."

"Lancelot," growled Tristan "is a soft old woman."

Damara smiled, remembering Lancelot's rejoinder when she'd accused him of being soft.

As Tristan observed her smile, his lip curled. "I see you favor Lancelot now," Tristan snorted. "How long did it take for you to fall to him?"

"I have not fallen to him, nor will I," snapped Damara. "Speak to Lancelot, he will tell you."

"I saw you together. I saw him go back into your house and the light go out. I am not a stupid man. The only time I have been stupid is when I believed words of love from a whore."

Damara clenched her jaw, willing herself to be silent. The man was hateful, and if he would not listen to her explanations then he deserved to think the worst. Having cleaned Tristan's wound thoroughly, she now commenced stitching, shoving the needle through his flesh rather more roughly than she should. Though he made no sound, she immediately felt guilty. She was a healer and deliberately causing pain was against her calling.

So, she concentrated on her stitching – as well as she could anyway. She had not been close to him in months and his nearness was distracting, even as angry as she was at him. As she stitched she tried to avoid noticing the warmth of his skin and the tautness of his muscles. She tried not to feel the coldness of his gaze upon her for he radiated with hostility. His anger made her nervous and caused her stomach to squirm in discomfort. Her hands brushed against him as she worked, try as she might to avoid unnecessary contact.

She tried to make the stitches as small as possible, to lessen scarring. She leaned in closely upon beginning and ending a stitch and realized at one point that his skin was only inches away from her mouth. Out of nowhere the image came to her of her tongue snaking out and tasting the saltiness of his skin. She tried to imagine Tristan's reaction if she were to do such a thing and while the picture in her head almost made her giggle, the squirmy feeling in her stomach increased tenfold. Her breathing became shorter, she was losing her ability to concentrate, and she had a decidedly uncomfortable ache in a decidedly uncomfortable place.

She tried to think what might be wrong with her, that she felt so horrid and queasy. Was it simply nerves? Was she ill? She'd felt similarly in the past, but thought it was related to her pregnancy. Obviously that was not the case anymore. She realized that the other times she'd felt like this had been when in close contact with Tristan. It figured that even when she'd liked him, the man made her ill.

"What's the matter with you?" Tristan asked her. He had noted Damara's reaction to his proximity with great interest. She was brazen – brushing his skin with her fingers, her rapid, heavy breathing. He knew desire when he saw it. Was Lancelot not quite what she wanted?

"I don't know," Damara replied. "I'm not feeling well. My stomach aches and I feel warm. I suppose I'm coming down with some sort of malady."

Tristan looked at her dubiously. Was she being coy?

Damara finished up with the cut on Tristan's chest and turned to the cut on his thigh. "I'll get some clean water while you remove your pants or…" her voice trailed away. 'Gods,' she thought – 'this will be intolerable.'

She heard a ripping noise. Tristan had taken his knife to his pants, opening a hole in them so that she could tend to his cut. She felt great relief that he would not be sitting in front of her without pants on until she heard him say, "I'll have Sorcha stitch them back up."

Damara was glad that she was busy filling the basin – she knew her face would betray the stab of jealousy she felt. Sorcha was a prostitute and Damara was sure she'd take care of his pants for him – along with any other needs he might have. But then, what did she care - Sorcha was welcome to have him.

She composed herself and returned to the wounded man. This would never work. She would have to kneel in front of him, between his legs, to stitch his thigh wound. "Why don't you get up on that table? It'll be much easier."

"I'm content here," Tristan said. He knew very well what she'd been thinking – it pleased him to do anything that would add to her discomfort.

With a sigh of irritation, Damara knelt down and set to work. The cut was not large, but it was deep. He had been lucky - it had only nicked the artery. Just a fraction closer and the bleeding would have been very hard to stop. As it was, the wound was still seeping. As she worked, she told him, "You'll have to stay off this for a few days. There is a small slice in the blood vessel. I'll stitch the skin but you can easily tear that vessel if you do too much too soon."

He didn't say anything, so she looked up at him to make sure he understood. His eyes were on her, intense, and she blushed and forced herself to concentrate on his wound. That squirmy, ticklish feeling in her stomach was back in full force. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, and went back to work.

Tristan had never enjoyed being stitched up before, but Damara's discomfiture was well worth any pain he was feeling. Her breathing was coming faster – he could feel her breath against his thigh and had to suppress a groan. He noticed she could not concentrate on her tasks. She dropped the needle twice, and had difficulty threading it. As he watched her, head bent to her tasks, he began to fantasize about the other services he'd like her to provide him with while she was down there. Accompanying these thoughts was an uncomfortable swelling in his groin.

He shifted in the chair, and Damara looked up at him in annoyance. Her eyes lit on his swollen groin and Tristan was amused to see her face flush bright red. If she had difficulty with her tasks before, she now became positively clumsy.

"What's the problem?" Tristan growled. "Have you forgotten how to do your job?"

Damara did not acknowledge him; she could think of nothing to say. She simply redoubled her efforts to complete this task so she could be on her way. As a healer, she had been confronted with the occasional erect male. It happened, and was involuntary. The polite thing to do was to ignore it and continue treatment. But this was different. Most men seemed embarrassed when it happened – Tristan acted quite the opposite, and seemed to be flaunting it.

Growing bold, Tristan reached down and loosened the laces of his pants, lessening the pressure on his aching member. He grabbed his tunic and held it at the ready in case anyone happened to come in.

Damara was appalled - and determined to ignore Tristan's behavior. She considered getting up and walking out, but decided she would not give him the satisfaction. He was trying to get on her nerves – trying to intimidate her. She simply would not allow him to.

All the same she found his…presence difficult to ignore. Her mind began to wander. She knew how to please a man if she wanted to. If she had a mind to she could have Tristan at her mercy. It would be good to have him under her control. As before, she wondered what his reaction would be if she acted upon her thoughts. An involuntary groan escaped her lips at the thought of Tristan, head thrown back, whimpering for release.

'Enough,' she thought. She had stitched him up; he could damned well bandage the thing himself.

Tristan heard her moan and felt a great sense of satisfaction. He wanted her to feel what he felt, unable to get her out of his mind, with torturous visions of her pleasuring someone else. Then he realized, as he looked down on her, that her desire would only send her straight to the dark knight; that Lancelot would be the one to benefit from Tristan's efforts.

He growled slightly at the thought. Damara looked up at him -what was his problem now? She was angry and growing increasingly so. Her eyes challenged his, and his met hers with a challenge of his own.

Tristan badly wanted to hurt her, the way he was hurt at her betrayal. "You know what to do with that, don't you?" Tristan said softly, eyes flicking towards the erection that was barely hidden under his loosened trousers. "I'msure the Romans taught you all about that. So…go ahead, while you're down there. There could be a few extra coins in it for you."

Even as he said it he knew he was being incredibly cruel, and while a part of him hated himself for it, another part relished it. He waited for the tears, to see the hurt cross her face and was surprised when instead he saw anger.

In a rage, Damara leaped to her feet with the intention of slapping Tristan full in the face. He caught her hand in mid-flight and twisted her arm behind her back, pulling her closely against him.He looked down into her face, eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you want to hit me, little girl? Ask yourself if you are sure I won't hit back." Pushing her up against the wall, he ground himself against her so she could feel his hardness.

"That's what you're wanting right now, isn't it? I can smell it on you, how bad you want me." His mouth came down on hers and though she struggled at first, her lips parted involuntarily for the invasion of his tongue. He kissed her slowly, deeply, until he heard the deep groan of desire that she was powerless to restrain. In triumph, he abruptly let her go. "Did you get that from Lancelot? Does he make you feel like I do?"

She stood there, breathless, aching, helpless, and angry. Forgetting his warning of only moments before, she drew back her hand and slapped him as hard as she could. Her hand stung with the pain of it and she hoped he'd felt even a fraction of that pain.

Then she opened her mouth and let him have it.

"No man will ever touch me again without my permission and that includes you. Whether you believe it or not, I have never been with  
Lancelot. He has never so much as touched me! But if he had - so what? You rejected me, remember? You're the one who didn't want me!" She stood in front of him, fury blazing in her eyes.

For just a second, Tristan wondered if she might be telling him the truth. Was it possible? "He stayed with you that night! I watched the two of you embrace!" Tristan's voice was ragged with pain.

If Damara had been less angry she might have heard the doubt in his voice. Instead his words sounded like more accusations. "He slept there, nothing more! And we embraced only as friends, but go ahead and believe what you want to believe."

She took a deep breath and pointed a finger at him.

"But let me tell you something right now. If I'm going to bear the brunt of your anger for something that I have never even done, then  
maybe I'll just go ahead and do it."

She looked at him a moment, their eyes meeting defiantly. She wouldn't back down; not now.

"When I go to Lancelot I'll be sure to tell him he has you to thank."

Before he could react, she ran out the door and disappeared.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Cardeia:** Glad I could point you to the Mads website. One movie you absolutely HAVE to see him in is Open Hearts. I don't know how easy it is to find here in the states; but I rented mine through Netflix. Wonderful, wonderful movie. It actually got a 96 fresh rating on the tomatometer at rottontomatoes dot com. Unheard of. That's the only movie I've seen him in other than KA, but I have more on the way. Can't wait!

**Nymbis of the Underworld:** Cool name! I'm glad you like my Tristan. No, he's not a romantic guy, but I'm going to have him evolve a bit -I hope you still like him at the end of it. Thank you so much for reviewing. :)

**KnightMaiden:** They'll be together soon - I know I've dragged this out a bit but I hope you can be patient a little while longer.

**LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Here's the next chapter, and I hope you like it as much as you did the last one. :)

**dellis**: Glad you thought it worked okay. I tried to make him unlikeable at that moment, but not irredeemable. It worked for some, maybe not so much for others.

**autumn sprite:** Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you liked it and here are a couple more chapters that I hope you'll also like.

**BlackPaintedWhite:** You're welcome for the Mads site! Always happy to point someone there; I think it's very well done. Yeah, I know what you mean - he's Danish so my first inclincation is to say he's fromDaneland.:) Like a big dummy. Check out his movie Open Hearts. It'sreally good, and as an added extra bonusthere's some mostly nekkid Mads in it. Great chest on that man. Lord Almighty.

**Auriel Dresden:** Okay, I've written more and here it is. Hope you like it! Thanks for reviewing. :)

**Disclaimer:** Usual stuff, not making any money, etc.

**Rating:** M - this chapter's pretty tame though.

**Author's Note:** Another chapter that was appallingly long, so I've divided it into chapters 15 & 16.The second half will be following along probably sometime this evening.

Damara ran out of the keep. She had never been as furious as she was at this moment. She needed to go find Vanora, get the baby and leave. Tristan was hateful and if she never saw him again it would be far too soon for her liking. Breathless, she ran to the tavern to see if her friend was working.

Vanora was there – the tavern would be filled to capacity tonight as it always was after a battle. She was having more barrels of wine brought in – it could get ugly when the drink ran out. She looked up when Damara ran into the tavern.

"What is it, love?" Vanora asked.

"Where's Bran? We're going home," Damara said, breathing heavily.

"What in the world has happened to put you in such a state? The redhead asked, bemused.

"Tristan – he's so horrible and cruel! How did I ever think to love such a man?"

Vanora looked at the girl – flushed and out of breath from more than just running, she thought. "What's he done to disturb you so?"

Damara's face burned bright with the memory. "He is vile and disgusting. He accused me of sleeping with Lancelot and then he…kissed me!" Even to her own ears she thought she sounded childish. But Damara didn't want to speak of the hateful things Tristan had said to her.

"Well, that hardly seems so bad," said Vanora. "A lot of men think you're cuckolding them, they'll give you a hard right to the face."

"Even if I had been sleepingwith Lancelot it would have been none of his business. He ended it with me, Vanora. He gave up the right to say what I do or don't do anymore," Damara explained.

"Whether he has the right nor not doesn't mean a man won't get upset," Vanora said mildly.

Damara didn't feel like arguing her point. There were details that Vanora wasn't privy to, but the healer did not want to drag out every one of them just to make Vanora understand. Anyway, she had the sneaking suspicion that anything she said might end up being told to Bors and that would not do. She might as well call a meeting of the Round Table and tell everyone about Tristan's crude behavior herself.

"Anyway, he makes me ill," Damara said crossly. "I have the worst stomach ache whenever I am in his hateful presence."

"That's odd," said Vanora. "Never heard of that before. Maybe you ate something that didn't agree with you?"

"No…it's not like that. It's this horrid, squirmy feeling. I can't breathe right, and I get too warm. I know it's because he's so angry with me and it makes me nervous…" she broke off at the sound of Vanora's laughter. "What's so funny?"

"Oh my dear…" Vanora giggled, "do you truly not know what that is?"

"As I said…nerves?" Damara said uncertainly.

"That's called desire, dear – you feel like that because you want him," Vanora said, body shaking with merriment.

Damara looked at her friend and curled her lip. "That's what he said, the arrogant ass. He's wrong and so are you. I can't stand to be in the same room with him."

"That doesn't mean anything – I can be mad enough at Bors to gut him, but when he looks at me a certain way…" Vanora trailed off, smiling. After a moment of reverie, she asked, "Have you truly never felt this way before?"

"Not at all. The only men I've ever… No, never. And I hope never to again. This is intolerable," Damara replied in disgust.

"So you've never known pleasure with a man?" Vanora was aghast.

Damara shook her head. "Pleasure? To tell the truth, I've wondered how any woman could enjoy such a duty."

Vanora looked at her sadly. "With a man of your choosing, be it Tristan or some other, it will be different. One day you'll see."

Damara wondered at that, but was doubtful. "While that might be true, one thing I can tell you is that if I do take a man, it will never be Tristan. He is the most horrible, cruel man I've ever met. He's…he's…" Damara sputtered, and then drew a deep breath. She was done talking about him. She just wanted to leave this place and go home, where she could find peace and tranquility.

"I need to be on my way - I'd like to go get Bran now," said the healer.

Vanora looked doubtful. "I wish you'd reconsider. It's going to be dark soon and there is no way of knowing if all the Saxons are gone. Why not wait until morning? You can start out fresh, first thing," she said.

Damara thought about what she said. It was a long way back to her hut and it was getting late. It would be well past dark by the time she got home. "All right, I'll stay. But just until morning."

Damara remembered the promise she made to Lancelot earlier. "Lancelot did want me to go out with all of them to the tavern to celebrate. I don't really want to, go but I did promise."

Vanora smiled. "Lancelot, eh? Didn't you say that Tristan thought you and he…" she looked thoughtful. "If he sees you with Lancelot it'll either turn out to be a bloodbath or just the thing Tristan needs to bring him around."

"Bring him around?" Damara shook her head. "You haven't been listening to me. I don't want anything to do with him anymore. Ever," she said for emphasis.

In return Vanora grinned at the young healer and said, "How's your stomach feeling?" She burst into peals of merriment at Damara's look of dismay.

Still laughing, Vanora took the healer's arm and said, "Come, let's go get your baby. I'm sure you need to feed him by now." As they walked away Vanora added, "And while we're at it, I have a nice dress that you can wear. The color's not right for me, but I have a feeling it would look gorgeous on you."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Damara asked.

Vanora looked her up and down skeptically. "Nothing, if you think blood stains are attractive."

Damara looked down at herself. She supposed she was a bit of a shambles. It might be nice to get cleaned up, look presentable. She wondered if Lancelot would be appreciative. "Vanora?" she asked suddenly.

"What, dear?" the redhead asked.

"You can't say anything to Bors. I mean, it – not one single word," Damara said.

Vanora was intrigued. "Not a word. About what?" she asked.

"What you said about being with a man of my choosing…"

"Yes?" prompted Vanora.

"Well…what do you think about Lancelot?" Damara said in a rush.

Vanora's face was thoughtful. "Oh dear, that depends on what you want him for. Do you just want a tumble, or are you looking for something more?"

Damara carefully considered before answering. "I don't know. I like him, and I'm not afraid of him. He'd stop if I wanted him to, wouldn't he?"

Vanora looked at the girl with something akin to pity. "I can't imagine he wouldn't."

Damara nodded and then continued. "As for something more, we're friends and I like it that way."

"Well, then you should leave it that way," the redhead said wisely. "You could stir up a hornets nest for no good reason. And if you happen to fall in love with him you could end up badly hurt." Vanora squeezed the healer's hand. "Any particular reason that you're thinking this way now?"

"I just thought I'd get it over with, see what all the fuss is about. As I said, I like him and he may as well be the one," Damara said. Vanora looked at her skeptically until Damara relented.

"All right, that's not all of it," Damara said. Her eyes flashed defiantly. "I told Tristan that I was going to sleep with Lancelot since he accuses me of it anyway."

Vanora summed up the situation. "So, if I understand you correctly, you're going to sleep with a man you don't really want to get back at a man you don't care anything about?"

Damara wished she hadn't put it that way. "No, that's not it at all," snapped Damara.

"Mm-hmm," said Vanora. "So tell me how it is, then?"

In response all Damara did was look at Vanora with irritation.

"I see," said Vanora. "Can I say something?"

"As long as it is not in his defense," replied Damara.

"I can't defend what I don't know, and I suspect there is more to the matter than what you have told me," said the redhead. "But Tristan is a hard man, always has been. He'sdistant and cold. I have known him for a very long time, but it wasn't until you came along that I suspected he had a heart somewhere in there."

Damara shook her head. "You're wrong, Vanora. I've known men who enjoy being cruel, but not like that. Tristan claimed to care for me, yet he went right for the throat, and his aim was true."

"Even the most gentle dog will bite when injured," said Vanora. "Would you expect a wolf not to go for the throat? He bites because he is wounded, Damara. Nobody but someone he loves could cause him such pain."

"It's possible that you aren't the woman for him," she continued. "It's possible he can be gentled, but if not then he must be endured as he is. If you cannot do that, then be glad that you found out now rather than later."

They had reached the hut where Vanora and Bors lived, and stopped by the door to finish their conversation.

Vanora sighed. "If you don't want anything serious, then Lancelot is your man. I've heard talk and from all accounts he is an excellent lover. You may not be able to expect him to be a faithful lover, but you can expect him to be a very skilled one."

"But…?" Damara asked. "I suspect you have more to say on the subject."

Vanora chose her words carefully. "You're playing with fire here. Not just with your own heart, but with Tristan and Lancelot's friendship." Vanora looked her in the eyes. "Those two are sometimes at odds, but they have been brothers for fifteen years. I don't know if a woman could come between them, but I would hate to see that tested."

The redhead gave Damara a quick squeeze at seeing her downcast face. "But let's not think of any of that right now. Let's go in and get you cleaned up."

ooooo

When Damara walked into the tavern, all eyes were on her. She wore a dark red dress that clung to her in all the right places. Her hair was loose, falling to her waist in long dark waves. Lancelot stood up to greet her and his gaze was appreciative, his eyes sliding up and down her form as he uttered a low whistle.

Damara smacked him on the shoulder. "Stop that – I swear you have no shame!" she said.

Lancelot grinned. "There is no shame in appreciating beauty," he said.

Pleased with the compliment, Damara smiled back at him, looking into his eyes. Then suddenly shy, she blushed and looked past him to Gawain, who had called a greeting.

"Let's go sit down, shall we?" Lancelot smiled. He ushered Damara to the table where the other knights waited and signaled to the barmaid to bring two drinks.

ooooo

Damara was having a wonderful time. She drank wine, danced, drank wine, flirted with Lancelot and drank still more wine. She had started out vowing only to drink the one tankard but had felt so relaxed and carefree at the bottom of that one that she quickly ordered another. And then another.

She didn't care that Tristan sat in the corner, with Sorcha on his lap, her hands roaming over his body. And Damara was bound and determined to show him that she didn't care by having the best time ever. She danced with every knight that asked, and even though she'd never really danced before, she found that in the arms of the knights it didn't matter. They tossed her around as if she was a rag doll, and she loved every minute of it.

If her laughter was a little too bright, a little too forced, nobody really noticed. Only Damara knew that she had to keep laughing in order not to cry. How could one's heart ache so badly and still keep beating? It must be the wine, she thought. Much as she tried to hold on to her earlier anger, as she watched Tristan she instead found herself understanding the pain that had driven him to such cruelty, and his need to lash out, for she was feeling that now too.

Lancelot was very attentive and as the evening wore on she found herself deciding that she would have him that night. Drink had made her bold, and anyway, why not? She was no virgin, and he was an attractive man that she liked enormously. He would never hurt her, she knew that. She could feel safe with him. And if there was the slightest chance that it would grieve Tristan, so much the better. She didn't want to think about long term consequences for her friendship with Lancelot or whether she loved him or not. She just wanted to feel something – anything - to replace the empty hole in her heart, if only for a little while.

Vanora's words about Lancelot and Tristan's friendship had made an impression on her, and she had started out the night deciding that she would do nothing to come between them. However Tristan was making it abundantly clear that he couldn't care less what she did. His face was buried in the neck of the buxom blonde creature that Damara saw was dismayingly attractive. Desperate to show him she didn't care, she held Lancelot closer and laughed all the louder.

ooooo

Tristan sat in the tavern in his preferred corner. His eyes had not left Damara since she'd arrived. Every movement she made, every sway of her hips, mesmerized him. She was happy and enchanting as she threw her head back and laughed and danced. The musicians played one merry reel after another and Tristan watched as his brother knights swung her around and tossed her back and forth.

He cursed himself for indulging his anger earlier that day. If indeed Damara was innocent of Lancelot's touch, she would not remain so for much longer – and Tristan himself was responsible for that. More than that, what he'd said to her had been unforgivable, and he couldn't forgive himself for saying it to her.

He was once again in the corner, alone and separated from those closest to him. This time he was watching the woman he loved fall into the arms of one of his brothers, and he couldn't think of anything he could do to stop that. He wasn't going to fight Lancelot – he had not taken her; Tristan had lost her. And for tonight, the fight was gone out of Tristan. He had tried to dredge up the anger that had been such a comfort to him for months, but found he could not. The rage had left him and now he was just weary and sad.

When Sorcha came to him his first inclination was to send her on her way, but in his pain he found himself reaching out. The fondest hope Tristan held for this evening was the thought that maybe if he drank enough and closed his eyes tightly enough, he could hold Sorcha and pretend he was with someone who had briefly loved him until he had ruined it. Someone with long dark hair, blue-green eyes and the kindest face he'd ever seen.

Sorcha noticed with irritation the way Tristan kept gazing at the drunken brunette who was throwing herself at the knights. What he saw in that little milquetoast, Sorcha had no idea, but she was fed up with competing for his attention. It was time to make him forget all about the little brunette. "Let's go," she whispered huskily into his ear.

Tristan looked at her, not comprehending at first. Then he looked past her to Damara and Lancelot. The dark knight bent down and whispered something in Damara's ear and she lightly smacked him on the chest and laughed. Tristan noticed that her hand lingered on Lancelot's chest and saw the knight's hand come up to cover hers.

He looked back at Sorcha and nodded. Wearily, he got up from his chair and followed her out the door.

ooooo

Damara laughed brightly at a joke that Lancelot told and glanced over at Tristan to make sure he noticed what a good time she was still having. To her shock, he was not there. Her eyes scanned the tavern and her heart lurched when she saw him leaving, hand in hand with Sorcha. Her face fell and she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.

Lancelot noticed her sudden change in demeanor and his gaze followed hers to where the scout could be seen walking out the door with the blonde prostitute.

The dark knight gazed wistfully at Damara's face. He'd known what she had been feeling tonight, all too well. He felt the same way himself in the presence of Arthur and Guinevere. That gut-churning agony, the hate and love that you were sure was out there for all to see, and the desperate need to hide it. More than that; the need to pretend you were the happiest person in the room, when inside you were dying. He'd played along with her tonight, but now it was time to be her friend.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot asked softly.

Damara looked up into his face, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I hate him," she said.

Lancelot looked at her knowingly, but with understanding. "I don't think you do," he said.

"Let's leave now," she said suddenly, looking into his eyes.

Lancelot looked at her for a long moment. He knew what she thinking. Slowly he shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, love," he said.

Damara looked away, eyes downcast. "So," she said softly, "you don't want me either?"

Lancelot pulled her close against him. Gods, that wasn't it. He could very happily take her to bed, but what about after? What would become of them after? "That's not what I'm saying, Mara," Lancelot said. "I just think..."

"No!" Damara sobbed as she pushed him away. His rejection, coming on the heels of Tristan's disregard, was unbearable. "If you don't want me I'll find someone who does!" She reeled away from him but he pulled her back.

"Don't be foolish," he said. "You don't want to do that, and I'm not going to let you."

Drunkenly, she stood there, swaying as she poked him in the chest. "Don't you dare tell me what I want and what I don't!" She jerked away from him, trying to free herself from his grasp.

Furious, she looked around, and noticed a handsome young man standing at the bar. He'd been casting admiring glances her way all night. "You there!" she called to the startled fellow. "Do you want to have me? Because he doesn't!" With her thumb she gestured at Lancelot.

A man somewhere in the tavern shouted, "I'll have you! Come over here, lass, we'll take care of you!" His remark was punctuated by the laughter of his friends, who urged the man to step forward to try to claim the prize.

The knights began to rise from their table, ready to stave off any trouble that might occur.

"You lot couldn't take care of a wet dream!" Vanora shouted as she walked over to Lancelot and Damara, who had buried her face in Lancelot's chest. "Sit down and shut up, the lot of you!"

"Get her out of here, before she starts a riot, will you? I suspect she'll start removing her clothing next," Vanora said. "And you mind your manners, in her present state she'd probably bed anything."

"You mean even me?" Lancelot said, somewhat insulted.

"I mean especially you," Vanora laughed. "Just put her to bed. Alone, mind you," she said.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** Not making any money from this, entertainment purposes only.

**Rating:** M

**WARNING: This chapter deals with mature subject matter of a sexual nature.If you think you may be offended by such, please read no further.**

As soon as Tristan stepped outside, Sorcha launched herself at him. At first, he went with it, eager to do anything to rid himself of the thought of Damara and Lancelot together. He tried to pretend the prostitute was Damara, but reality kept intruding. Sorcha's heavy perfume; groping hands and her crude way of telling him all the things she was going to do repulsed him. She pulled at his clothing as she backed him into the alleyway.

It became obvious to him that things weren't going to work out tonight – the body part necessary for that just was not interested. Try as Sorcha might to stroke and caress a reaction out of him, he remained soft. He began gently trying to fend her off, but she only re-doubled her efforts.

Finally, he lost his patience with her and pushed her roughly away from him. "Enough!" he snarled.

Stung by his lack of reaction to her charms and further affronted by his rejection, Sorcha lashed out. "Unmanned by drink tonight are you?" she sneered.

"Not by drink," said Tristan coldly. "By the companionship."

Sorcha's face turned white. "You think she's better than I am, do you? I saw you watching her all night - you're pathetic; sitting there cow-eyed over someone who doesn't want anything to do with you. Before the night's over she'll be on her back, spreading her legs for Lancelot like any other whore…"

Her voice was cut off as he shoved her up against the side of the building. "Not another word," he said softly, eyes glittering with anger.

Sorcha was not easily intimidated. Hers had been a rough life, full of rough men and Tristan did not frighten her. Her eyes, full of contempt, met the scout's. What was he going to do – hit her? He'd hardly be the first.

Just then Lancelot and Damara walked by, Lancelot's arm tightly wrapped around the healer's shoulders as she leaned into him.

Tristan's mouth came down on Sorcha's in mock hunger and he roughly pushed up against her. When he heard the couple's footsteps recede he pulled away from the prostitute, who laughed softly.

"You fool," she said. "She's got a bastard and no husband. She was throwing herself at every knight in the place and in a few minutes, Lancelot's going to have her ankles up around her ears. She's no different than I am…"

"Leave me be," said Tristan wearily. It galled him that this is what he had come to, held up for ridicule by a whore. Reaching into his jacket, he felt for a few coins and pressed them into Sorcha's hand. "For your trouble," he said as he walked away.

After a few steps he called back to Sorcha. "And you're wrong," he said. "She's worth a hundred of you."

Full of despair and unbearable loneliness, Tristan reeled away into the darkness. With no where else to go that he particularly wanted to be, he wandered over to the graveyard and looked up some old friends. Long gone, some of them – Dagonet of course only gone a few months. He wondered where they would have buried him had he died – what patch of ground would have been his final resting-place?

Tristan reflected on the wasted months since Badon Hill, and the depression that had haunted him since, with the exception of that one serene afternoon.

What would Dagonet have done if he'd been the one granted a second chance? Raised that boy Lucan as his son, maybe. Found a good woman and had a family of his own. He would have loved and laughed and enjoyed his friends, counted his blessings. He would not, Tristan was fairly certain, have wasted it being alone and angry – desperately trying to hate a woman whose only offense had been to save his life.

Tristan had always taken joy in breaking things. Well, people, to be more precise. As a slave of Rome, for that's how he saw himself, it was his only power, and the only thing he had that no one could take from him. His brother knights? Taken from him one by one. Not being able to trust in the constancy of human companionship, he trusted in the constancy of his sword. The constancy of cruelty because that was what life was.

His coldness and lack of mercy were what made him so good at the art of warfare. And in his hurt and anger, he'd gone to what he knew best. But this time instead of an enemy in battle Damara was the thing he'd taken joy in trying to break. And in doing so he'd lost his only hope of happiness.

In despair Tristan sat down by Dagonet's grave and buried his head in his hands.

ooooo

Lancelot walked Damara up to her room. The baby was with Vanora's family, and well taken care of for the evening, so he had decided to put her in her old room for the night. He felt for Damara. She'd had quite a bit to drink and he knew she was going to be feeling poorly in the morning.

His intent was to put her to bed and walk away, but she was making that very difficult. She had asked him to hold her, which he did - he understood that she needed the comfort. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, and she seemed content. His difficulties began when she buried her head in his neck and he felt the tickle of her breath against his throat.

After a time, Damara slowly pressed her lips against his throat and began to lightly nuzzle him. Lancelot knew he should pull away from her but against his better judgement he stayed, sighing with pleasure at the sensation. Encouraged, Damara pulled away from him a little and tentatively pressed her lips against his.

Still, Lancelot held back, but was undone when Damara's tongue slipped between his lips. He groaned and pulled her against him, hands sliding down her back and over her buttocks.

He kissed her deeply, and her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closely to her. By mutual assent, they fell back onto the bed and continued their exploration of each other. His bodyresponded to her closeness and he began to work on the laces at the back of her dress, pulling frantically as he tried to loosen them.

A voice in his head told him to stop, that he was wrong to take advantage of her in her current state but at his body's insistence he kept going. Her sweetness and innocent passion were irresistible. To assuage his conscience he asked her a question that he already knew the answer to.

"Are you sure about this?" he breathed into her ear.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured against his lips before once again sliding her tongue into his mouth. "Oh yes, Tristan."

Lancelot felt as if a cold bucket of water had been thrown over him. He disentangled himself and sat up, frustrated, but wryly amused. He knew he'd been wrong to be in this room, on this bed, with Damara. And here was his punishment.

He stood up, sighed heavily and began to straighten out his clothing. "Where are you going?" Damara cried.

"You have no idea how much I want to stay here and do this with you, but Tristan is like a brother to me. And I like you too much to change things between us," he said.

"But…" Damara started to speak, only to be interrupted by Lancelot.

"And don't accuse me of not wanting you," he said sternly. "I think you felt for yourself how very much I do."

Damara rolled over on her side and curled into a ball. She looked morose, and Lancelot felt a tug at his heart. He sat down next to her and stroked her hair. "I do want you, very much. But I don't want to take the chance that you'll hate me tomorrow, and I don't want to hurt Tristan."

Tears rolled down Damara's face. "Tristan doesn't care." She dashed her hand over her eyes.

"Look at me," Lancelot said. "Damara."

Damara rolled over on her back and looked up at Lancelot, who wiped her tears away.

"He does - deeply. I know him well and I know that if he could have left with you instead of Sorcha, he would have done it. Like you, he strives to show he doesn't care."

Lancelot sighed. "Oh, what a mess you two are." He bent over and kissed Damara on the forehead. "Go to sleep now. We'll talk in the morning."

As he pulled the covers up to her chin he noticed how bleary-eyed she was. He smiled and said, "Well, maybe we'll talk in the afternoon instead." Then he got up from the bed and left the room.

ooooo

It was growing late and cold and Tristan was weary. He didn't feel like going to his lonely room and take the chance of hearing Damara and Lancelot down the hall. He would go mad. So, he got unsteadily to his feet and made his way back towards the tavern.

The tavern was a bit quieter and emptier than when he'd left. Gawain and Galahad sat at a table, talking and drinking, each with a woman on his lap. Declining their invitation to join them, Tristan went to the bar and planted himself.

Vanora walked up with a pitcher of wine and set it down in front of him. He nodded in thanks, but she ignored him. She hadn't really spoken to him since the day he'd bitten her head off over Damara.

He sat, nursing his drink until Lancelot came in and sat down beside him. "Tristan," he said by way of greeting.

Tristan looked over, surprised. What was Lancelot doing here, when he should be in Damara's arms? Vanora brought Lancelot a drink and they sat in silence.

"Well?" asked Tristan.

"Well, what?" Lancelot asked, studying the inside of his tankard.

Tristan ground his teeth. "Where's Damara?" he asked. He knew from long experience that he was going to have to drag every single detail out of the dark knight. He loved him like a brother but the man could be impossible.

"I imagine she's in her room, sleeping off all that wine she consumed," Lancelot said casually.

Tristan buried his face in his hands and uttered a frustrated groan. "Why do you do this? Why can you not just tell me what I want to know?"

Lancelot took a drink. "Am I a mind reader? How should I know what questions you have?" He chuckled, for he was enjoying the scout's frustration. "Very well, I'll tell you."

He leaned back in his chair and slowly took another drink. After he swallowed, he sighed in satisfaction, while Tristan stewed beside him."

Finally Lancelot spoke. "She was exquisite," he said. "Passionate, eager – everything you'd want in a lover."

Tristan clenched his jaw. It was as he had feared. He idly envisioned knocking Lancelot out of his chair and pummeling him into oblivion. But the damnable thing was that it was Tristan's own actions that had sent Damara to him in the first place.

"And then," Lancelot continued after watching the interesting expressions on Tristan's face, "she called me by your name. It had a rather unfortunate effect on things I'm afraid," he added.

Tristan was silent for a moment, contemplating what Lancelot had just said. He looked sharply at the other knight. So, had they or hadn't they?

Lancelot sighed heavily, suddenly serious, tired of playing his game. "I swore I wasn't going to touch her, but she was just so damned sweet, and she wanted to be held. So I held her. Then when she called me by your name it was suddenly like you were there in the room with us, and I couldn't go through with it. So I left her and here I am." He turned to survey the room, to see what pickings were left at the end of the evening.

Tristan looked at Lancelot, one more question in his eyes.

"That night I stayed at her house, I only slept there. I swear to you. It was late and so I stayed, but it was completely innocent," Lancelot said.

"And the kiss that I saw?" Tristan asked, wondering how Lancelot would explain that away.

"A kiss between friends, that is all," said Lancelot, unknowingly echoing what Damara had told Tristan earlier. "I won't lie to you; she has come to mean a great deal to me. But it is her friendship and her company that I value and I would not want to risk that. Nor would I want to risk my friendship with you," Lancelot said in all seriousness.

Tristan was touched, though he would never admit to it.

Lancelot continued. "Let me just say this - Damara is in love with you. I don't know what you did, but what ever it was hurt and angered her deeply. How you're going to fix that I don't know, that is up to you."

"She told you she loved me?" Tristan asked.

Lancelot chuckled. "Actually, no. She kept saying how much she hated you." When Tristan's face fell, Lancelot added, "She was only trying to convince herself of that, but I saw the truth of it. I saw her face when you left with Sorcha - she was devastated."

Lancelot took another drink and then as an aside said, "She would kill me if she knew I told you, so don't say a word about that."

"Not a word," Tristan echoed.

Lancelot caught the eye of the girl sitting on Galahad's lap. He beckoned to her, and she got up and walked over to him, winding her arms around his neck. Galahad shot an annoyed look at Lancelot, but then shrugged. He and Gawain would simply share.

"I put Damara in her old room, just in case you're wondering. And remember this. if you mess this up with her I may change my mind and decide to finish what I started. So think about that before you go making her angry again," Lancelot said.

He got up and wrapped his arm around the girl's waist. Seeing that Vanora was standing nearby, his eyes lit up mischievously. As he and the girl started to walk away, Lancelot looked at Tristan and said, "Now I know how Bors feels every time Vanora screams out my name." He laughed and easily ducked the drinking cup that Vanora sent hurtling towards his head.

After they had left, Tristan took his last swig of wine and got up to leave. Vanora walked past and as she did so she said sternly, "As Lancelot said, she's very drunk, just so you know. You mind yourself, for you'll answer to me if you hurt her." Then she turned around and said, "No – you'll answer to Bors."

Tristan smiled at Vanora, which surprised her, as it was something she had rarely seen. He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, "Actually, I'm more frightened of you than Bors."

Vanora laughed, and things were right between them again. "I don't know what you did to upset her. But I thinkshe wants to forgive you – you just have to ask her to."

Tristan nodded. "I intend to." He turned away and then said, "Thanks, Vanora."

Driven by liquid courage, Tristan mounted the stairs and down the hall to Damara's room. He knocked, but heard nothing. He then opened the door slightly and looked in. "Damara?"

"Hmmm?" came a noise from inside the room.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly entered the room. It was dim, with only one lantern burning. Damara was flat out on the bed, with one bare foot on the floor. "Room's spinning…" she said.

Vanora had been right, thought Tristan. She was drunk indeed, on the verge of passing out. Well, at least if things went horribly wrong she'd probably never remember.

"Damara?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Tristan?" she mumbled. She sat up and slurred, "What are you doing here?" Awkwardly, she pushed herself up from the bed and stood there, swaying slightly as she regarded him.

"I wanted to talk to you, but maybe we should do that later," Tristan said. The problem was, he wasn't sure he'd have the courage later.

"Why aren't you with Sorcha?" Damara wondered.

"She wasn't who I wanted to be with," Tristan said gently. "Damara?" he asked.

"Hmmm," she replied.

"You probably won't remember this tomorrow but I am sorry for what I said. It was unforgivable and I didn't mean it." Hewatched her as he spoke,trying to guage her reaction. "I wanted to hurt you," her continued miserably. "I thought you had lain with Lancelot and wanted you to hurt like I did."

"You said you couldn't be with me," Damara reminded him.

"I was wrong," he said simply. "Forgive me?"

Warm feelings washed over Damara. Whether it was how she truly felt or the wine, she didn't know. She looked up at him, into his eyes, and then she nodded.

Tristan breathed a sigh of relief but wished that Damara wasn't in her cups – would she even remember forgiving him? At least he knew she was inclined to forgiveness, and if he had to do this dance again tomorrow, he would. "Can I come see you tomorrow?" he asked.

Damara smiled and happily nodded again.

"Well, then," he said awkwardly, "I'll leave you to get some sleep." He turned to leave, and then back again. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Tomorrow," Damara said, wobbling where she stood. "Right."

He was almost out the door when Damara called out to him. "Tristan, wait!" He turned back to her and she took a deep breath, gathering her courage.

He looked at her, waiting to hear what she would say. Embarrassed, she looked down. "I was wondering if you…that is, would you like to…"

"Yes?" he asked.

To his utter shock, she began to strip off her dress, the laces already having been loosened by Lancelot. In moments it fell to the ground in a pool of red.

Trying hard not to look anywhere but at her face he asked, "What are you doing?"

Damara stood there, stark naked, swaying slightly. Her face pleaded with him not to reject her. "Damara said it would be different…with a man of my choosing…" She looked at her feet and went on. "Right now, I can do this. I'm not afraid, so I want to get it over with."

She came up to him, putting her hand on his arm. He tried not to look at her, which was difficult because she stood directly in front of him.

"Don't tell me no," she pleaded. "I might not be able to…be with you…later. And I don't want to disappoint you."

"You mean when you've sobered up?" Tristan asked. He looked at her, but she was looking at her feet. "Look at me," he said. He bent down so that he was eye-level with her and looked into her face.

"Damara, you could never disappoint me. Never. I'm a patient man, and if you're frightened we'll wait until you are not."

Damara was frustrated. Why could he not just do as she asked? She had worked up her courage and was ready now. Hoping to sway his resolve, Damara reached for his hand and placed it on her breast.

Tristan's eyes closed and he swallowed heavily. This was pure torture – he wasn't going to be able to restrain himself if she kept this up. Idly his thumb caressed her nipple, and he groaned when it stiffened in response.

Encouraged that he did not pull away, Damara pressed herself against him and wound her arms around his neck. With a growl, he lowered his head to cover her mouth with his own. His tongue slipped into her mouth and eagerly, she received it. His hands went to her waist and pulled her tightly against him.

Damara frantically pulled at his tunic, desperate to feel his skin against hers. He released her for a moment to pull it off, and within seconds it had joined her dress on the floor.

They came back together in a frenzy of kisses and caresses. Damara's hand slid down Tristan's chest and across the tightness of his stomach, and lower still.

Abruptly Tristan pulled away from her. His breathing was ragged and he restrained himself only by the merest thread.

"We can't…" he gasped. "Not right now."

Damara looked at him, confused and frustrated. "Why? You don't want to?" she asked.

"That's not it. Gods, do I want you. But not like this."

Damara stumbled back to the bed. "I don't understand…"

"You won'tremember this in the morning. It's not right." Tristan sat on the bed next to her. "I do want you. But I want you completely."

Damara lay back, moaning. "You can't…leave me like this. I ache… I want…" All day long she'd felt the undercurrent of desire running through her. The last few minutes with Tristan had brought her to a fever pitch and her physical need was almost unbearable. She closed her eyes and tears of frustration squeezed out from under her eyelids.

Tristan knew how she felt. He ached with an almost intolerable longing, which he would ease as soon as he was back in his room. But he watched her writhing in sweet agony on the bed and felt guilty for his part in it.

"Damara," he said softly. "I won't take you tonight, but I can ease your suffering. Do you want me to do that?"

She wondered how, but then she decided that it didn't matter. She trusted him and would just give herself over to his ministrations. She nodded her assent. "Please…" she sighed.

Tristan lowered himself to kiss her. Her arms wound around him and she pulled him against her. Fearing that she would be the ruin of his good intentions, he pulled her arms from around his neck.

His lips worked their way down her throat, and lower still, to her breasts, and her cries of delight were nearly his undoing. He slid further down her belly. Lower still, to her thighs. He tried to part them, only to meet with resistance. "What are you…"

"Ssshhh…" he reassured her. "Relax…trust me…"

To calm her uneasiness, he backed away and simply lay there, gently stroking her thighs. Slowly his hands moved ever higher, towards the source of the ache that was nigh unbearable. Then his fingers were there, caressing her so lightly that she could barely feel it, though the shock of it caused her breath to hiss between her teeth.He cruelly teased her with his fingers, caressing her everywhere but where she most needed him to. Her need grew and she squirmed and moaned in frustration as the promised relief seemed further and further away.

Then he took pity on her and lowered his head, giving her what she so desperately craved. In shock, her hips rose up to meet him, thrusting against him. Something was happening…she wasn't sure what, but she craved it, ached for it. Oh…gods…she was dying…there was something waiting there, just beyond her grasp…and she sobbed with the wanting of it. Then it was there and she was swept away. She screamed her ecstasy, not caring who heard or knew.

Falling back on the bed, she almost immediately fell asleep, a look of deep satisfaction on her face. Tristan stood up slowly, breathless and aching with his own need. He looked forward to when he could be with her, but that would not be tonight. He gazed for a moment at her beautiful face, and then covered her with her blanket and made his way to his own bed, to his own fevered dreams.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Glad you liked it; here's another. I like writing Lancelot and I hope you like this chapter because I wrote some stuff for this one that I am fond of.

**ElvenStar5:** Thanks for reviewing. Yeah, we're almost there. It won't be much longer now.

**BlackPaintedWhite:** Interesting, huh? Okay, I'll take that. Thanks for reviewing hope you like this one. It's a little short but I'm on my way out of town to the ass end of nowhere for a little league game.

**KnightMaiden:** Here's the next chapter!

**Cardeia:** Thanks for the review and the kind words. This was another chapter that I was a bit hesitant over, but I just went with it. I had two concerns – one, that she not just "get over" what Tristan said to her. I think she had to come to understand that that is how Tristan works. He was hurt and he lashed out, and when she feels that same kind of hurt she begins to understand. He had to get to a place where he could apologize and she had to get to a place where she wanted to hear it. And two, that her deciding that it was time to be with someone sexually be believable. She had something taken from her and I wanted her to decide that it was time to take it back, but also to be apprehensive about it. You're right, hurt, pain and the mind do strange things. Mix that up with alcohol and you get all kinds of reactions. There were walls between Damara and Tristan and the dropping of inhibitions and heightening of feelings was the key to breaking those down.

I thought Tristan had been way angry for long enough. At a certain point you just get tired I think. He realized it was his fault he was miserable and owned up to it. And you're right; they've been together too long for a woman to come between them. I like Lancelot and I didn't want him to be a heel in this. I think he is a flirt and gets around and he likes to needle people but he is also decent. He may be tempted but he knows what is right and wrong. So I wasn't going to have him do anything underhanded that would hurt either Damara or Tristan. He might want to, and be tempted but even if she hadn't called Tristan's name he would not have gone through with it.

**A special thanks for Cardeia for being my Beta for this chapter. Sometimes you write and go over things so much that you just can't tell if you like it or notand that's where I was with this one. So, thanks so much Cardeia for your input and reassurance. **

**Disclaimer:** The same as everyone else's

**Rating:** M for mature situations.

Damara awoke early the next morning, feeling fuzzy and thickheaded, plagued by a horrendous thirst. She was nude, which startled her – she normally didn't sleep that way.

Gods – what had happened the night before? Her memories were a blur of drinking and dancing. Oh…the drinking. The appeal had been obvious the night before, but the morning after had little to recommend it.

She'd spent much of the evening with Lancelot, and remembered wanting to take him to her bed. What had seemed like a good idea when inebriated seemed like the worst idea in the world in the stone cold sober light of day. She did not feel as if she had been with a man but all the same, her memories were so fragmented and incoherent that she couldn't be sure what had happened. The fact that she was disconcertingly naked weighed on her mind, however.

With a groan, she heaved herself out of her bed and the sloshing of her brain immediately caused her to sit back down. This was intolerable – once knowing the effect of wine, why would someone deliberately expose themselves to the consequences? Damara determined at that moment to never imbibe again.

She got up again and this time managed to stay on her feet. Tottering uncertainly over to the wash basin, she splashed water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She felt slightly better and harbored a fervent hope that this unpleasant feeling would not be with her long.

Her stomach growled, though the thought of food was not a pleasant one at the moment. She supposed she should get something to eat, and hoped that she might feel better once she did.

She picked Vanora's dress up off the floor and shook it out. Once she was dressed and had run a comb through her hair she felt a little better. With a small bit of breakfast and some water to quench her horrible thirst, she thought she might start to feel vaguely human again.

She felt uneasy at the thought of running into people she knew. What if she had utterly humiliated herself last night? She remembered the despair she had felt, watching Tristan with Sorcha. Had she lashed out, made a scene?

Lancelot would know, and she dreaded having to ask him. She knew that he would torment her unmercifully with the things that he knew and she did not. Eventually she would get the truth from him, but she would have to endure his merciless teasing until he deigned to tell her.

Having decided to speak to Lancelot and get a meal before leaving for her home, she opened the door to leave. As she started down the hall, she saw Tristan walking back to his room from the privy. He looked as rough as she felt. At the sight of him Damara felt an unexpected surge of tenderness. His hair was mussed and he was shirtless, absently rubbing the hair on his chest as he wandered towards his quarters.

She flew back into her room before he glanced her way, not wishing to see him. A stab of jealousy ran through her as she wondered if Sorcha was still abed, waiting for him. All the more reason to quickly gather up her child and be on her way. She was weary of all the emotions, the ups and downs, and yearned for the peace and quiet of her home.

She cracked open her door to see if the way was clear but heard the voices of two of the knights engaged in conversation down the hall. She sighed and sank to the floor, waiting for them to leave. Leaning back against the door, Damara closed her eyes and her mind wandered to the evening before. Her thoughts skittered over the night's activities and suddenly her eyes flew open wide.

There was a bizarre memory fragment that she could make no sense of. She vaguely recalled wailing like a banshee while Tristan's tongue had been…

Her face burned bright red. That could be no memory, but a dream. And such a wicked dream it had been. It served to reinforce her vow to never again touch wine, if it would be the cause of dreams such as that one.

Once again, she checked the hallway and upon hearing no one there, slipped out of her room and quietly down the hall.

She went down to the kitchens hoping for something to eat. Her stomach roiled at the thought of food, but she knew she should get something in her stomach before leaving for home. Lancelot was already in the dining hall taking his morning meal. He waved her over and she went to him with not a small amount of trepidation. She'd wanted him to tell her what had happened the night before, but now thought that maybe she was better off remaining in ignorance.

"Good morning!" he said jubilantly. "Feeling well today?"

"I feel well enough," Damara said, watching him closely. She wished he would not be quite so loud. "And you?"

"Good, good," he said as he shoveled food in his mouth. "Never better." He handed her a piece of bread, which she took gratefully. "So – how was the rest of your night?" he asked her, eyes twinkling.

Damara wondered if there was some hidden meaning in his words. Something about the way he said it. Carefully she said, "I don't really remember much. I remember dancing, and a lot of drinking. But really it's all sort of a big blur."

"I took you back to your room – do you remember that?" Lancelot asked.

Damara furrowed her brow, thinking back. "I remember you taking me back but not much beyond that. I must have fallen asleep straight away, I suppose."

"Fallen asleep? Not hardly," said Lancelot, a smile playing about his lips. "I'm wounded. I thought I had been quite memorable."

Damara's eyebrows rose. "Meaning?" she asked him.

"Nothing really," Lancelot said, eyes dancing merrily. "It's too bad you can't recall because we had quite a time, you and I."

Damara groaned and buried her face in her hands. "You didn't…I mean, we didn't…?"

Lancelot placed his hand against his chest in mock pain. "You wound me! As if being with me was the worst thing in the world! I'll have you know women line up…"

"Lancelot! Just tell me!" Damara cried in exasperation.

The dark knight threw her a wicked smile and she didn't know whether to slap him or swoon. He was a devilishly handsome man, but right now she was leaning more towards slapping him. Finally he spoke.

"No, to answer your question, we didn't. If you must know, nothing happened."

He noted Damara's thankful sigh of relief and felt a little insulted. Would it have been so bad if they had made love?

"Well, nothing _much_ happened anyway." At this proviso, Damara's head snapped up. She regarded Lancelot as he smiled widely at her, and she wondered what exactly constituted 'nothing much'.

He let her stew for a moment and then went on. "Not that I didn't want it to, of course. But there we were having the most wonderful time…" Lancelot sighed dramatically. "But when you called me 'Tristan' it sort of threw a wet blanket on the whole thing."

Damara's face flamed. "I didn't!" She looked at Lancelot who nodded in the affirmative.

"I'm afraid so," he said. "Quite a blow to the ego, that was."

'How humiliating,' Damara thought in mortification. "I am so, so sorry," she cried. She buried her face in her hands.

Lancelot chuckled. "I do wish I'd have known you wouldn't remember a thing about the evening's events - I would have taken full advantage."

Damara threw a scornful look at him. "No you wouldn't have -I know you better than that. You pretend to be a cad, but you're really a very decent man."

Lancelot smiled at her. "No…I can be a cad."

Looking at that smile, which if rumor was to be believed, had caused countless women to succumb, Damara thought that he probably could be a cad at times. A charming and completely forgivable one, but a cad all the same. She heaved a sigh and buried her face in her hands again. How embarrassing that she had called out Tristan's name while in Lancelot's arms. Wouldn't Tristan just gloat over that?

"I still can't believe I called you his name. I am so sorry, Lancelot. Gods, just don't tell him. I would die if he knew."

The silence that greeted that request was deafening. Damara looked up at Lancelot, to see that he was suddenly intensely interested in the contents of his plate. The blood ran from her face. He would not have told him – would he have?

"Lancelot! You didn't!"

"I'm sorry! I ran into him at the tavern after I left you and…"

"You're such a gossiping old woman! Have you no discretion whatsoever?" The young healer thought that this had to be absolutely the most humiliating moment in her life so far. Bar none.

"Why would you do that?" Damara stood up in preparation to leave, while Lancelot tried ineffectually to protest his innocence.

At that moment, Gawain and Galahad walked up to the table, plates in hand. "Damara," said Gawain in greeting, as he sat down to eat. "Have a good time last night?" The twinkle in his eyes gave her pause.

She drew herself up. Maybe she was just overly suspicious but there seemed to be some sort of big joke here that she was not aware of. "What do you mean by that?"

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Lancelot gesturing madly at Gawain. She looked at him to see what he was on about but was too late to see anything but the look of feigned innocence that crossed his face.

Galahad, having just sat down, abruptly stood back up. "I'm going to get more bread. Anybody want some? No?" The young knight asked as he beat a hasty retreat.

Gawain shoveled some food in his mouth and said, "From the sounds that were coming from your room last night you seemed to be having a pretty good time. I was just making mention of it."

"What sounds?" she said, her voice growing strident. She turned to Lancelot, who had put his head on the table. "I thought you said nothing happened."

"I said nothing _much_ happened, " protested Lancelot.

Damara glared at Lancelot, who relented. "Alright, alright – I sent Tristan to your room. I thought I was doing you two a favor, since he was the one you wanted…"

Damara once again buried her face in her hands. Gods, that the ground would just open up and swallow her whole. Suddenly that odd, half-remembered dream made some sort of horrible sense. The banshee wails had apparently been no dream. Her face flamed. She was going to die. Literally, she was going to die.

She whirled around to leave, and saw Lancelot staring down at the table, shamefaced; and Gawain, whose shoulders were shaking with laughter that he was trying desperately to control. Incoherent, Damara could only utter a small shriek of outrage at them before stomping out the door.

Unfortunately, Tristan chose just that moment to enter the dining hall. A look of surprise passed over his face as he caught sight of Damara, madder than a wet hen, storming towards him. She paused for a moment in front of Tristan. "And YOU!" she howled at him. She pulled back and slapped him across the face and was gone.

"What the hell was that?" asked Tristan, rubbing his face. Gawain was falling out with laughter, and after a moment, Lancelot joined him. Puzzled, Tristan looked down the hallway after the fleeing Damara before sitting down at the table.

Tristan had been having a very pleasant morning, remembering the night before with Damara. Things were right between them again. He'd been deep in reverie about how loving and sweet she was and then all of a sudden, there she was before him. But she'd inexplicably turned harpy on him. Women – who knew what went through their minds?

Seeing Galahad's momentarily abandoned plate, he pulled it over to him and started eating, just as Galahad arrived back at the table with more bread. "That's my plate," he informed Tristan.

In response, Tristan looked at him coolly and continued eating. "Get another. Why did I just get slapped?"

As Galahad once again left, grumbling, the remaining knights looked at each other. "I've been nothing but your friend in this," said Lancelot. "Talk to that one." He gestured at Gawain, who was still happily eating.

Gawain swallowed his food and then burped with great satisfaction. "I merely made mention of her rather loud enjoyment of whatever you were doing to her last night," he said innocently. He smiled broadly. "What were you doing anyway?"

Tristan's eyes narrowed. "Damara's no bar wench to be bantered about at the breakfast table," he said.

"So…no details?" Gawain asked forlornly.

"No details," Tristan confirmed. He finished eating Galahad's breakfast and got up from the table. "I guess I'd better go find her."

Lancelot grinned at him. "I don't envy you, my friend. She was spitting mad when she left here."

Tristan ruefully rubbed his face. "I know very well how angry she was. Thanks to all of you, I'm going to have hell to pay." He gave the knights a look that promised future retribution. "I'll be seeing you all on the practice field later."

As Galahad arrived back at the table with another plate of food, Tristan shoved the near-empty one back over towards him as the young knight glowered. "There's your plate back," Tristan said amiably.

As he went down the hallway, he heard Jols call his name. He turned to see what the squire wanted.

"Arthur wants to see you, Tristan. He's sending you out."

Tristan sighed. For now, Damara would have to wait. Tristan followed Jols to Arthur's study to find out what his mission was.

ooooo

Damara had been home for about two weeks, and was glad for the serenity she found there. Her days fell into a routine pattern, which she found great comfort in. Her nights, however, were another matter. The snippet of memory haunted her, and if she did not fantasize about Tristan, she dreamed about him. She was in a near constant state of arousal from the memory of him and it galled her.

For the first few days Damara had waited eagerly for Tristan to arrive at her door, for surely he would come to see her. As days went by, and then a week, she took it to mean that he had lost interest and would simply not be coming. When the second week was well underway, she resolved to consider the whole thing a figment of her imagination, for to dwell on it brought her nothing but pain. She supposed that one day she would simply stop thinking about him altogether and resolved to bear it as best she could until that day arrived.

ooooo

Tristan came riding back to the keep. Two weeks, he'd been gone scouting the north for signs of Saxon activity. There were a couple of small villages that had been overrun, but the Saxons seemed content for now to remain where they were. The worry was that they would become staging areas for a larger Saxon invasion. They would bear watching.

He had thought about Damara the whole time that he'd been gone. He needed to see her, to see if they could make things right between them. He was hesitant – she'd been very angry with him. What if she thought he'd taken advantage of her; what if she hated him?

He'd been given relief from duty for the next day and took the opportunity to ride out to see the young healer. He was nervous, anxious, and didn't know what he would say to her. What if she slammed the door in his face, rejecting him outright? He waited on horseback, observing her hut from the cover of the forest. Maybe she was not even home.

He observed a small fox pup limping in an enclosure in the yard and smiled. Back to healing the animals, was she? Suddenly he saw her emerge from behind the house with Bran in her arms. She threw the baby in the air and danced with him around the yard as he giggled hysterically with delight.

His heart melted, even as he began to doubt. What would she want with him? She'd loved him once, briefly. But their reconciliation had been a drunken encounter that she apparently didn't even recall. Or if recalling she may have assigned evil intent to Tristan's actions.

He wished he'd been able to speak to her straight away. But it had been two weeks and who knew what she was thinking by now? He dreaded going down there and risking rejection for he knew his heart would break. Tristan had never given his heart to anyone, had never even considered it before. He knew that he could go to her one time, and if she rejected him it was not in him to ever try again.

If only there was some way to get the lay of the land before committing. Some way to find which way she was inclined. He needed some sort of excuse for being there, a way to save face. She was a healer - could he feign illness or injury? But then he thought about Lancelot's blister and the other lame excuses he used to spend time with the healer. He, Tristan, was not nearly buffoon enough to attempt it. Anyway – there were healers at the fortress. If he were truly injured he would not need to come all this way for care.

No, that excuse would not work. There had to be something else. As he wracked his brain, an idea began to form. An injured animal, such as the fox pup limping in the enclosure at Damara's house. But where to find an injured creature? It wasn't as if they were just lying around the forest waiting to be picked up and healed.

He supposed he could catch one and injure it but that seemed a bit mercenary even to him. As he considered his options, the croak of a raven caught his ear and he brightened. A hatchling, fallen from the nest, would be a perfect excuse to see her. All he had to do was locate the nest – how hard could it be to steal one from it?

He looked up and began searching for the raven's nest. After some time he located the nest and he thought it looked promising. The tree was high, but easy enough to climb. And as a scout, he was very adept at tree-climbing. This would be simple.

At first, it was. He reached the top and snagged one young raven out of the nest. He carefully put the screeching baby bird in his shirt for safekeeping, and started back down the tree. Unfortunately, the hatchling's cries of distress had attracted the attention of its parents.

Tristan found himself beset by the angry birds. They dive-bombed him, beating him with their wings and pecking at him with their large, sharp beaks. Holding on to the tree with one arm, he frantically smacked at them with the other. "Aaahhh! Nasty winged rodents!" he cursed at them. He felt blood dripping down his head from where a blow from the deadly beak had landed.

After what seemed an eternity, he heard a familiar cry, and he breathed a sigh of relief as his hawk swooped in, tearing at the birds. Preferring to protect their nest than avenge their stolen chick, they retreated to where their other hatchlings were, unattended.

Back on the ground, Tristan mopped at the blood running down his head. It was not serious, but as with all head wounds, it bled profusely. He checked on the hatchling in his pocket, making sure it had not been injured during his climb back down the tree. A smashed baby bird would be of no use to him.

His reason for seeing Damara safe and alive in his shirt, he got back on his horse and headed for the healer's hut.

She was no longer outside when he got there, so he dismounted and went to the door. Hesitating, he started to knock and then stopped himself, remembering the bird in his shirt. He scooped the baby raven up and held it gingerly in his hand. Satisfied, he then knocked on the door.

Damara opened the door, and before her stood Tristan. A bloody, bedraggled Tristan. In her concern for him, she forgot to be self-conscious at seeing him again. After a shocked intake of breath, she cried out his name.

"Tristan! Are you all right? What has happened?"

Tristan froze, wondering how he was going to explain all the blood. Instead of speaking, he merely thrust the baby bird at her, which she took from him, puzzled.

"Where'd this come from?" she asked, cradling the ugly little beast.

"It fell out of the nest," he said. "I went to pick it up and the parents came down and attacked me." He was pleasantly surprised at how quickly he'd come up with that. Well, it was mostly the truth, anyway.

Damara examined the little raven carefully. "No broken bones…after such a great fall?" She looked askance at Tristan. "A very lucky little bird this one is."

Stone-faced, Tristan nodded, hoping his guilt didn't show on his face. "I remembered you had a raven once and thought you might like to take care of him."

Damara flushed with pleasure. "How kind of you to help this little bird, and to think of me." She put the little hatchling in a small bird box that she had made. "He'll be warm enough in here and I'll tend to him in a little while. You, on the other hand, I'll see to right now."

She brought him into the hut and bade him sit in a chair. "Ssshh…" she put her fingers to her lips. "Bran's sleeping. He's teething and has been horribly cranky. I just got him to go down."

She got a basin of water and a rag, and quickly wiped the blood from his face. She then turned her attention to the cut on the top of his head, examining it closely. "You won't need stitches," she said. "It's just a small cut and has almost sealed itself. Just let me get this clean – I don't want to risk infection."

As she stood there in front of him, she felt his hands go around her waist. She closed her eyes as he pulled her towards him. She pulled his head to her breast and they held each other silently for a time.

"I'm sorry," Tristan said softly. "For everything. I wanted to come to you but Arthur sent me away…"

Damara's heart soared. "And I'm sorry, too. I got so angry the last time I saw you," Damara said. "I thought I had driven you away completely, that you decided I was not worth the trouble."

"Trouble? You've been that," Tristan smiled, remembering the first time he had said that to her, when he'd had to find her on the trail. "But you're worth every bit of it."

He pulled back and looked at her. "I've asked you this before, but you wouldn't remember. I want to ask you now. Do you forgive me for the horrible way I treated you that day?"

"As long as you promise never to do it again, I'll consider it," Damara said, smiling gently.

Tristan knew she was joking and that he was forgiven, but he took her face in his hands and said earnestly, "I wanted to hurt you, and I would spend the rest of my life showing you how much I regret those things I said."

Tears sprang to Damara's eyes. "Don't make rash promises, Tristan. I would not have my heart broken when you tire of me," she said.

"I can't imagine ever tiring of you," Tristan said. He pulled her head to his in a deep kiss.

She surrendered to him, moaning against his mouth all the longing that had haunted her since their last encounter. Moments later, they lay on the bed together, Tristan slowly and reverently disrobing her, before momentarily abandoning her to shed his own clothes. Damara watched him and shivered, covering herself with her hands.

"Cold, my love?" asked Tristan.

"Just a little," Damara said, trying to cover her nervousness. What she wouldn't give for a tankard of wine right about now. But no – she had to do this sometime, unaided by alcohol, and there was no time like the present. She reached her hand towards Tristan. "Come warm me."

Tristan joined her on the bed and buried his head in her throat, raining soft kisses on her delicate skin. She closed her eyes but as his hands began to roam, she stiffened, pushing at him with her hands. Tristan stopped, and gave her a quizzical look.

"I'm sorry," Damara said, shame in her eyes. "I'm a little frightened." She gave little laugh, trying to keep her tone casual and light. "You'd think I wouldn't be – it's not like I haven't done this before."

She looked up at him and saw the serious look on his face as he gazed into her eyes. "No, love. _This_ – you haven't done before. And I'm the lucky man who gets to be the first."

She was touched deeply by his words. With a somber demeanor she said to him, "I fear that I will not please you."

Tristan looked into her eyes and stroked her lovingly on the cheek before bending his head to kiss her on the lips. Against her mouth, between kisses, he spoke softly, sending shivers down her spine.

"You couldn't displease me if you tried. But until you're ready for more let me concentrate on your pleasure." His lips moved to her ear, nuzzling it and sending shocks of desire through her body.

"There was something I did the last time we were together that satisfied you greatly." He moved back and looked into her face, noticing with amusement that she had reddened. "Would you like me to start with that?"

Embarrassed and unable to meet his gaze, she said softly, "If that is what you would like to do."

He laughed and said. "It is." He nuzzled her neck and she sighed with pleasure. "I have only one request," he said.

"And what is that love?" Damara groaned as Tristan's lips started moving down her body.

"Try not to let your screams wake the baby," he chuckled.

For her part, Damara did try.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**autumnsprite; BlackPaintedWhite; Nymbis of the Underworld; KnightMaiden; LANCELOTTRISTANBABY; ElvenStar5**: Thanks for reviewing, glad you liked it. Here is the next chapter,back to a bit of serious again. BPW - no the Saxons aren't going to attack, I just sort of wanted to give Tristan something to do and also establish that the Saxons are around and are a factor in their world now. They haven't just gone away.

**Ailis -70:** - Mine is NOT better than yours, it's just different. I have every bit the same amount of self-doubt that you do. I read Cardeia's stuff and just think I should pack it in. But there are different styles and if all stories were the same it would be boring. Yeah, I was kind of fond of the bird scene myself. Hey, I've BEEN dive-bombed by a raven. It's scary! I thought a bit of foolishness would be fun there. It's not like anyone saw him or anything, so hey, it didn't really happen, did it:) I've been meaning to review your story as well - I've read it, but sometimes I can be so bad at getting back to doing the reviews.

**Cardeia:** Thanks so much for beta-ing for me on that last one. I've told you how much I enjoy Lancelot - I like him as that guy who teases you unmercifully, makes you want to smack him, but is such a good guy underneath. The guy who you think - 'well, maybe'... and then'no, better not'. Because you know he's going to break your heart. He won't mean to but he will. For some reason I always see Galahad as a guy who gets kind of picked on. Maybe because he's the kid, maybe because he's so cranky and people like to poke at him. I liked Tristan and the baby bird also. He's so unused to subterfuge that he wasn't sure he'd do it very well and was scared she'd see through him.

**Disclaimer**: same as it ever was. same as it ever was. same as it ever was. same as it ever was. You get a cookie if you can name the band.

**Rating:** Meh, whatever.

After Tristan left the next morning, Damara lay in bed, lost in reverie. She relived every sound, every kiss, every caress; over and over in her mind. Never had she dreamed it could be as wonderful as it had been with Tristan. He'd been very patient with her, in fact perhaps a little too patient.

His kisses, soft, slow and deep, had gone on forever, and it had been sweet torture such as she had never imagined. He had brought her to the brink with his lips and hands, but had not allowed release. When at last he had entered her, she'd exploded, sobbing and shaking in ecstasy.

They did sleep, but in holding each other, would awaken to seeking hands and mouths. Morning came too soon and it was with regret and the promise of a quick return that Tristan left.

Over the following weeks, Tristan did keep that promise. He was at her door and in her bed as often as he could spare the time and Damara would likewise find herself at the keep, seeking him out. They found that she had become wonderfully wanton where Tristan was concerned and she often successfully tempted him into clandestine rendezvous in hidden alcoves or empty storage rooms.

When Damara was around it became not uncommon for Tristan to be the last one on the practice field or late to meetings, adjusting his clothing as he arrived. The other knights would snicker and cast knowing glances in his direction. Lancelot was the exception to this, as he for some unknown reason had been increasingly surly of late.

On one such occasion, Lancelot took Tristan to task for his tardiness. "If you cannot keep your hands off the wench then maybe you should share an abode. Get your fill of her at home and be prepared to come here on time, with your mind where it should be!"

Arthur was prepared to break up a fight. His two best knights had ever been adversarial. He'd thought to speak to Tristan himself, but would have done so in private, using more diplomatic terms. To his surprise, and to Lancelot's for that matter, no knives were drawn, nor fists thrown.

Tristan had begun to bridle at Lancelot's terming Damara a "wench", but the thought of moving in with her, having her by his side every night, dissipated his irritation. He only wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself.

He suggested it to Damara that night and after some thought she happily agreed. She felt a twinge of regret that she would be leaving the home that had been such a happy and serene place, but that regret was forgotten almost as quickly as it came.

Some weeks later she was walking with Bran in the courtyard when she saw Lancelot. He looked as he usually did of late, distracted and in ill humor. She called out to him, and he raised a hand in greeting.

"Come, sit with me," Damara said. "We haven't spoken in a long while."

He agreed, and they went to the tavern where he ordered drinks. The healer demurred, wishing only for water due to the early hour.

"It is only late morn – is it not early to start imbibing?" Damara asked of Lancelot.

"Am I not a grown man, well able to decide when and if I will partake?" he said grouchily. He was leaned back, slouching in his chair, and he shot a resentful glance at Damara.

"Indeed you are, I only wonder why you feel the need," Damara replied easily. She did not take offense at his demeanor, for she knew it was not directed at her, but at whatever it was that had made him so surly.

"I am thirsty. Does a man need another reason?" He took a deep swallow of the wine that had just been set down before him. "Was there some reason you wanted to see me that didn't involve nagging me like an old wife?"

Damara was quiet for a few moments as she watched Lancelot. "I always enjoyed our time together and merely wished to speak with you as friends do," she said. Carefully, she measured her next words. "I see that your old wound has not healed, but only gotten worse and festered," she said.

"What old wound do you speak of? I am unharmed," Lancelot said in confusion.

Damara shifted Bran to her hip and leaned forward to place her hand on Lancelot's chest. "You know the wound of which I speak," she said quietly.

Lancelot was weary of holding in his secret, of pretending that he didn't feel what he so obviously did. He nodded at Damara. He knew that his friend did not judge him, and would tell no one. It would be a relief to speak with her again. "You've known from the beginning," he said. "Even before I knew myself."

Damara looked at him with sympathy. "The wedding is only a week from now, is it not?" she asked him.

Lancelot nodded miserably. "How can I love and hate two people so much at the same time?"

He took another deep drink from his flacon. "I cannot look Arthur in the eye – I've done nothing to betray our friendship but I cannot say that I never would. And I hate myself for that."

Distractedly, his fingers ran through his hair . "Arthur himself would know that something is amiss if he were not so besotted. He knows me better than anyone and I him. One day he will open his eyes and see, and he will either hate me or pity me."

Lancelot looked in Damara's eyes and she ached for him at the pain she saw there.He spoke softly, with the sting of defeat in his voice. "It is only a matter of time before people know, and then I will be seen as a pitiable fool, a laughingstock. It would be far better if I were to leave, yet, this is my home. Arthur is my home. Where else can I go?"

Damara had no answers for him. She merely put her hand on his in silent empathy. Lancelot held on to her hand as if it was a lifeline. Picking up her hand and kissing it, he held it against his mouth, head bowed. He sat still in his sorrow for a few moments, then with great effort he forced it back into hiding. When he looked up at Damara, she could still see scant traces of pain in his face, but he forced himself to behave as the Lancelot of old.

With a devilish look at her, Lancelot smiled. "I should have bedded you that night. Then it would be me, and not Tristan who you were tempting into dark corridors at the fortress." He laughed at the blush that stole across Damara's cheeks. Then his laughter died away and he said wistfully, "We could have loved each other, don't you think?"

"I think for a time, maybe we could have," Damara said. "But I am not the woman to keep you faithful and I would have nothing less than a man's entire heart." She looked into his eyes. "But know that I do love you, very much. As much as you often try my patience, you are also very dear to me."

"And you to me," Lancelot returned with a wistful smile. "Here – let me see that boy of yours," he said in a more hearty tone. Damara handed him over and Lancelot hefted the baby's weight in his arms. "Such a big boy! You're such a small woman; I wonder if he takes after his fa…" he broke off.

"I'm sorry," he said, shamefacedly.

"Don't be," Damara said quietly. "It is something I struggle with. What to tell him, and when. I've thought of lying to him, telling him that his father and I were deeply in love and that he fell bravely in battle. But someone else would tell him the truth, if I did not. It's no great secret."

"You've never really spoken of it, and I don't mean to pry…" Lancelot began.

Damara waved her hand at him to continue. She knew his greatest secret, it seemed only fair to share with him whatever he was curious about.

"Does Bran not remind you? Is it not difficult to look at him without remembering a bad time in your life?"

Damara smiled at him. "I choose not to see him as a reminder of a bad time, but as a gift. I love him and would not be without him. He brings me much joy – without what happened to me, I would not have him." She made faces at the boy, who blew spit bubbles at her in return.

"So that is it? You choose to see things a certain way and it's just that simple for you?"

"Not quite that simple," said Damara. "I don't dwell on it, try not to think of it, but it's always there whether I like it or not. Memories sometimes come unbidden, sometimes at the most inopportune moments."

She blushed as she said this last – things that happened in the bedroom between herself and Tristan were not for discussion, especially with Lancelot. She had confided in Vanora, but that was different. Sometimes, in their more frenzied moments, an unbidden memory would come forth and in terror Damara would lose herself, push at Tristan, try to get away from him. He was always very understanding but Damara would be mortified. It served to remind her that she wasn't over the experience, that despite what she told herself, she had not mastered her fear. She felt helpless in her realization that the Romans still held power over her. Indeed, she wondered if they always would.

"Anyway, that is enough talk about unpleasant things for one day," she smiled. "You certainly have a way with children – maybe you will be blessed with your own some day. Those not being raised by Bors, of course," she joked.

Lancelot gamely tried to smile, but failed miserably. "I have a request," he said.

"Anything – of course," said Damara.

"I cannot possibly miss the wedding. There would be too many questions," he stated. "As you know, I left the keep when the announcement was made. Arthur was hurt enough at that - to miss the wedding would be inexcusable."

Damara raised her eyebrows slightly and leaned forward, waiting for him to go on. "Yes?"

"But I don't see how I can make it through without the whole world knowing what I'm feeling." Lancelot hesitated and then sighed. "Is there something – an elixir, a potion, anything – that you could give me? Something that will numb my feelings, make me not care? Forever would be preferable, but at least for that little while?"

Damara shook her head. "Lancelot – I'm a healer. If you have a fever or a headache or a stomachache then I can help you. I know nothing about the kinds of things you speak of."

"You healed Tristan," Lancelot said urgently. "I saw his wounds – we all did. Those were not wounds that men recover from!"

"And yet Tristan did recover," said Damara flatly.

Lancelot looked around before speaking, lest he be overheard. "It's been whispered that you went to Merlin for aid, that without the dark magician's intervention Tristan surely would have died…"

Lancelot broke off as Damara glared at him. "Who whispers this?" she demanded.

"You could go to him, seek his counsel. He surely knows of something," Lancelot persuaded. "I obviously cannot go to him – he'd want to know why I needed such help."

"And you think he wouldn't ask me?" Damara asked.

"You could think of something to tell him so that he would not guess your purpose," Lancelot said. He leaned forward anxiously. She had to help him!

Damara put her fingers to her temples and began to massage them. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Merlin was the last person she wanted to see. She tried her best to avoid him, hoping that he would forget that she owed him a favor for intervening on Tristan's behalf. She definitely did not want to go to him begging yet another favor when the first one was as yet unpaid for. She looked at Lancelot's hopeful face.

As if sensing she could be persuaded into giving in, Lancelot further pressed his case. "I do not have it in me to watch him wed her and pretend happiness for the both of them. How would you feel if it were Tristan? If you had to watch him gazing into another's eyes, pledging his love, being tormented by visions of the wedding night to come? What if you had to watch it all and smile convincingly? Could you do that?"

Damara tried to envision what he described and knew she could not do as Lancelot would be expected to do. She looked at Lancelot, saw the depths of pain in his eyes and reluctantly she nodded. "I will ask him," she said.

Lancelot closed his eyes in relief and gratitude. "Anything you want from me – just ask. If you can do this for me you will have my eternal gratitude."

"I will tell that to Merlin," she said. "And let you pay whatever price he demands for this favor." Lancelot looked at her with a questioning look on his face, but Damara raised her hand to stop him from asking. "I will let you know, one way or the other," she said.

She got up to leave, and Lancelot also rose to his feet. He handed her the baby and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you so much. You're a great friend to me." He looked into her eyes and with that flirtatious demeanor of his that she knew so well, said to her, "I really should have bedded you."

Damara laughed and with great affection, kissed him lightly on the lips. "Until later, my friend." Her good humor faded when her thoughts turned to the task at hand – to find Merlin and request yet another favor.

ooooo

Merlin had not been surprised to see her – indeed Damara wondered if anything ever surprised him. Or maybe he just hid it very well, which would be a valuable skill if one wanted to cultivate a certain mystique, she thought cynically. He had not appeared surprised by her request and did not need to be told who it was for. It seemed he was already well aware of Lancelot's feelings. Damara realized that he probably would be aware of anything involving his daughter Guinevere.

"I can make an elixir to dull the senses," Merlin said. "But one must be careful in its use. It will lose its potency over time, with more and more being needed to gain the same effect as in the beginning. With too much use, the pain of life without it would become unbearable." Merlin thought for a moment. "Come to me tomorrow and I will show you how to make it for your friend."

"No!" Damara cried. As Merlin regarded her, she lowered her voice. "I mean, I would prefer that you make it for me and give it to me. I do not need to know how to make it."

At that, Merlin did appear surprised, Damara thought with amusement. "You do not prefer to do ityourself?"

Damara thought for a moment. "He may well ask me again to make it for him. If I do not know how then I cannot."

Merlin nodded. "Come to me tomorrow anyway. We will talk some more."

The next day, Damara left Bran in the care of Vanora's older children and went to see Merlin. When she got there, he handed her a small vial of brown liquid.

"It's not yet ready to be consumed – it must be made to sit in a dark place for 3 days to reach its full potency. He should drink the entire contents and the effects will last much of the day. He should also expect to feel unwell the following morning."

Damara nodded her thanks to the sage. "I am grateful to you, Lord Merlin," she said. He twitched his lips in a small smile at the title, but said nothing. He had his vanities and enjoyed the respect. He stood and regarded Damara, and confused she asked him, "was that all you wanted of me?"

He waited a moment and then said, "I wish you to come here to me once every week. There are things that I wish to teach you."

"What…kinds of things?" Damara asked.

"The making of this elixir, for one," said Merlin, watching her closely.

"I am a healer, Merlin," said Damara. "I am uninterested in learning anything that does not have to do with healing. Anything…unnatural."

"Come, nonetheless," he said. His voice brooked no opposition. "Though I am interested why you would not thirst for this knowledge. Do you not know the people you can help, the good you can do? The power that could be at your fingertips with the knowledge that I possess?"

Damara shook her head. "I want no power – with power comes responsibility and necessitates great wisdom. Wisdom which I am sadly lacking."

Merlin nodded thoughtfully. "What of the visions you described to me? Would you not like to cultivate the ability to see what you wanted, when you wanted?"

Damara shook her head firmly. "No, I would not," she said.

"Without your visions, the man you love would be dead," Merlin reminded her. "What if your child is to meet some fate that could be prevented merely by looking forward?"

"If that knowledge were to come to me, then I would use it. If I were to seek it out – would I be able to stop there? Or would I look into the future of everyone dear to me and meddle where I should not? And choosing not to meddle, would my heart survive? No, Merlin – this is something I want no part of."

Merlin smiled at the young healer. "Do you not realize that there are those who would do anything – even kill – to learn what I know? And that you would be thought foolish indeed to refuse me?" He regarded her carefully. "What if I were to tell you that there is a way that Lancelot could be forever stripped of his feelings for my daughter? No more pain; no more unrequited longings? What do you think he would pay for a service like that?"

"He is in agony now and I imagine he would be quite eager to be rid of it. He would give a great deal, I should think." Damara, suspecting that there was more that Merlin had not told her, asked, "And what other effects would he suffer for this great relief?"

"Suffer? None. His heart would be immune to any pain. Imagine never again feeling the agony that comes from knowing the one you love is in the arms of another," Merlin said.

"What of the joy of finding another love? Would he ever know that?" Damara questioned the magician.

Merlin was silent, watching her.

"As I thought. Then no, I would not tell him of this cure of yours," she said firmly.

"You would take from him the choice to be rid of his pain?"

Damara considered carefully and then nodded. "I would."

"Because you know better than he what is good for him?" Merlin asked, eyes watching her carefully.

Damara blushed. Put that way, it sounded like arrogance. She tried to explain herself. "Because I would have to live with the consequences every bit as much as Lancelot would. Because every time I saw him I would know that I had been the one to kill his heart. Though he made the decision, it was my action that brought him to that decision. Does that make sense to you?"

Merlin smiled. He was well pleased with Damara's answer. "That sounds like wisdom to me." He turned back to his work. "I will see you next week, then."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**KnightMaiden; LANCELOTTRISTANBABY; BlackPaintedWhite:** Thanks for reviewing this chapter, here is an update and I hope you like it.

**Cardeia:** The legend is Lancelot and Guinevere, so while I wanted Lancelot to be attracted to Damara, it didn't feel right that he would be "in love" with her. They're great friends and attracted to each other, but they both know it's not romantic love. It could feel like that for a while but in the end it would just ruin their friendship. I think in Lancelot's pain he wondered about how a "love" with Damara could be. Obviously it would be less painful than his unrequited love and that in itself made him wistful for it. The love without the pain. She sees his pain and she does love him and wants to help. At the same time she doesn't want him doing anything foolish because she knows he very well could - he is starting to become undone a bit. Also, I didn't want the rape to just "go away", because it doesn't in real life, so it would be foolish for it to suddenly not become an issue because it is inconvenient to write about. In fact I believe Damara is a probably a little too well-adjusted, but then there are people who are in real life as well. Maybe they truly are, or maybe they just bury it and don't think about it.Either way, there are people who function normally for the most part and only have the occasional shadow that crosses their mind in certain circumstances.I dropped the Merlin bit for a few chapters because I wanted to develop the relationship but he had to come back at some point. So, now he is back.

**Disclaimer:** Not making any money, etc. etc.

A worry had been nagging at Tristan for some time now. He trusted Damara with his very life, but he she was hiding something from him.

He knew that it was not another man. That was not even in the realm of possibility. But he could not fathom what else it could be that Damara would feel she had to keep from him. This realization had not come to him quickly, but rather over time. And it was more of a feeling than anything else. Sometimes, Damara simply could not be found. He would look high and low, but there would be no sign of her and no one who had seen her. Damara's only answer when Tristan would ask where she'd been was that she had been out for a walk. Or looking for herbs.

He never used to ask where she had been, but now he did and he never got an answer that felt like the truth. He had never caught her in a lie, but something just felt off. He did not like this secrecy between them, and he resolved to confront her about it, though truth be told he was afraid of what he might hear. Maybe she was unhappy with him and sought time alone. He did not think so, but it had to be something bad if she kept it to herself.

When they went to bed that night, and Damara reached for him, he stopped her. "We need to talk first," he said.

She looked at him, puzzled. "What is it, love?"

Tristan came right to it. "You've been hiding something from me – what is it?"

Damara sighed. Here it was at last. "I never meant to hide anything from you. I didn't. It started out with me just not telling you. Then I waited so long to say something that when you asked me about it I would have had to explain why I never said anything. So, I lied."

"You've been lying to me." Tristan stated, disbelieving. He wondered if he was going to wish that they'd never had this conversation. "What have you been lying about?"

"I haven't been taking walks, when you ask where I've been.I've been...elsewhere."

Tristan was getting angry."Well?" he demanded. "Out with it now. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

She'd been seeing another man. Impossible as it seemed, that had to be it. Only – who? Lancelot was rarely around anymore – he hadn't been in weeks. There was no one else, was there?

Damara sighed. There was no help for it – she knew she should have told Tristan months ago. "I've been seeing Merlin," she said.

Tristan's mind reeled. Not quite comprehending what he'd just heard, he looked at her and asked, "You've been sleeping with Merlin?"

"Sleeping… What? No!" she cried. "What is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me?" Tristan bellowed. "I'm not the one who has been lying about their whereabouts!"

"But that you would even think that of me! And with Merlin, of all people!" Damara shivered. She respected the old sage greatly, but that was definitely the extent of it. "How can you mistrust me like that?"

"Don't try to turn this around on me!" Tristan said tightly. "How am I supposed to know what to think? You don't talk to me, you're keeping things from me, and now I find you're lying!"

Damara glared at him and then softened. "You're right, love," Damara said quietly. "I'm just hurt that you ever doubted my faithfulness. I mean…how could you? Don't you know how much I love you?"

She looked at him with her large blue-green eyes as tears rolled down her face. He could see the love and trust shining in her eyes. Tristan sighed. She was right. He'd known that she would never betray him with another man, and he'd been wrong to even contemplate…

Tristan narrowed his eyes. "Are you manipulating me?" he asked.

Damara's eyes widened in shock and dismay at having been discovered. She uttered a small shriek of outrage and got up out of the bed and flounced out of the room. Seconds later she came back and snatched a blanket. This time she did not get out of the room before Tristan was upon her, picking her up and throwing her on the bed.

"You will sleep in here. With me, as always, whether you like it or not. And that is final," he said.

Damara sat back up. "Who do you think you are, to tell me what I will and will not do? I will do exactly as I…" her words were cut off by Tristan's mouth coming down on hers. She struggled for a short time but then all resistance melted away and for some time after there were only the sounds of lovemaking.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms. Damara's head was on Tristan's shoulder, and she lazily drew circles in the fur on his chest. "So," Tristan said, "care to tell me what it is you're doing with Merlin since you aren't sleeping with him?"

Damara gave him a little pinch, and Tristan jumped. He took his index finger and poked her in the side. "You don't want more of that, do you?" he threatened with a smile. Damara was horribly ticklish and the mere threat of a tickling was enough to make her back down from almost anything.

Damara made a face. It wasn't fairthat Tristan wasn't the slightest bit ticklish.She answered his question. "I've been learning from Merlin. He's been teaching me his craft," said Damara. She could feel Tristan stiffen.

He was silent for a few moments."I don't like it," he said. "What kinds of things?"

Damara could not go into specifics. Merlin had been very clear that the things she saw and did were not to be spoken of casually. "I've been learning about his religion, different healing elixirs and spells, things like that," she said.

Tristan was silent for a time. He didn't believe in all the talk about spells and magic. He believed in what he could see and feel, and thought that any magic was the result of trickery. Still, he didn't see that there was any real harm in it. Finally he spoke. "I won't stop you, but I don't want it or him interfering in our life again. Is that understood?" Tristan said.

Damara nodded, grateful that he had not exploded like she thought he would have. "I love you," she murmured.

Tristan was content. His life was good, and he loved this woman - his happiness was complete. There was only one thing that would make it even more so. "Do you want to have a baby?" he asked spontaneously. "One of our own, I mean."

Damara picked her head up and looked at him. "Do you mean it? I mean, are you sure? I never thought you liked children," she said somewhat sadly.

Tristan knew what she meant. He'd never really warmed to Bran. He had taken care of the child, fed him and watched him. He'd certainly never been neglectful or abusive of him. He'd just always kept him at arm's length. He'd watched the other knights with the boy, the way they threw him in the air and made him giggle. He wanted to be like that with him, too, for Damara's sake. He knew she badly wanted that.

The child was likeable enough and Tristan knew his parentage was not his fault. But still, when Tristan looked at him he could not help but wonder if he bore his father's face, for he looked nothing like Damara. He hated the nameless father of this child, and wished for nothing more than to run the man through. Him, and anyone else who had taken part. The knowledge that he would never have that satisfaction, that he would never be able to avenge Damara, grated on him. Every time she pushed him away, confusing him briefly for one of them, he felt hatred and longed for revenge.

Bran would come to Tristan sometimes with his arms raised to be picked up. Sometimes he would pick him up for a brief time; most of the time he didn't, instead giving him a treat or toy to distract him. Tristan knew one day the boy would not raise his arms to him anymore. He resolved to make more of an effort, for the boy should not suffer for the sins of his father, or for Tristan's inability to forget those sins. And it would make Damara happy if he would do so.

An idea came to mind, a way to startmaking amends. "What would you think if I were to take Bran out with us tomorrow?" Tristan asked. "We're going to patrol the southern border and the danger there is minimal. He's over a year old now; Bors' son goes out with us sometimes and has done since he was younger than that."

Tears stung Damara's eyes. "You would do that?" she asked.

"I love you, and you love him," Tristan said. He lowered his voice and looked at Damara with an apology in his eyes. "If I am going to be the boy's father, it's time I started acting like one."

Overcome, Damara began raining Tristan's face and neck with kisses. "I love you, my dear lovely man!" He kissed her back, and felt good. Things were going to be all right.

Her kisses began to turn passionate, and became lingering and slow. Her hand crept down and her fingers found the one place where he _was_ ticklish.

"Alright! Enough, enough!" Tristan laughed. "You've worn me out already tonight and I need to get some sleep!" He pulled her against him. "You're insatiable, you know that?"

"Well, just look at you," she purred. "What woman wouldn't be with a fine specimen like you in her bed?" Her hands kept roaming over his body, and he groaned with desire and in the resignation that sleep would not find him anytime soon.

"I should have known better than to accuse you of sleeping with Merlin," he growled. "Minx that you are, you would have been the death of that old man. That he still walks and breathes is proof enough you've never touched him."

Damara rose up and straddled Tristan, pinning his hands down to the bed. "He may not be man enough for me, but I'm pretty sure that you are." She rubbed herself against him, feeling the hardness of himbetween her legs. Her lips lowered to his ear, which she nibbled on to Tristan's reluctant delight. "Prove it to me. Unless you'd rather go to sleep, in which case I'm sure there is someone around who would be happy to oblige me…"

In one swift move, Tristan flipped her over onto her back and slid the entire length of himself into her. She gasped in shock and pleasure at being so suddenly and completely filled. He took her face roughly in his hands. "There will never be another man." His mouth ground down upon hers. "Do you understand? As long as you live, you are mine alone."

Damara grasped his hair and roughly pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. "As long as you understand that the same holds true for you. You ever touch another woman and you will not touch me again. I don't care what the other knights do beyond these gates. If you take a whore she had better be worth it because you will have had me for the last time."

With that she pulled his head down to hers in a rough kiss. Inflamed by Damara's possessiveness, Tristan spent the rest of the night proving to her that he was indeed all the man she would ever want or need.

ooooo

"Ah, Damara!" Merlin said. "You're late. I've been wanting to talk to you."

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I was talking to Vanora when I dropped Bran off and lost track of time."

"Is she happy about the new baby? That will be twelve now, won't it?" Merlin made a sound of amazement. "That is a lot of children, poor woman. Have you not given her the formula to prevent that?"

"How did you know of the new baby, Merlin?" Damara rolled her eyes. Foolish question – Merlin always knew. "Yes, I've offered. She feels it is unnatural and prefers for nature to take its course."

"You are no longer taking it, are you? I ask because you have not quickened with child yet."

"No, I am not. But I only stopped a few weeks ago. These things will happen in their own time," she said.

"It will not be long," said Merlin. He stopped abruptly when Damara put her hand up.

"Please Merlin. Some things should be a pleasant surprise," she said crossly.

Merlin chuckled. "Of course, child."

"What did you want to speak with me about?" Damara asked.

"The anniversary of the union of our people under the king is almost upon us. I wish you to assist me in the blessing ceremony."

Damara was in shock. "I can't – I have no rank or standing. You know that. The honor of assisting you goes to Abhainn."

Merlin grew perturbed. "Is it not my prerogative to say who does and does not assist me?" he asked.

"Of course, Merlin, but will he not be resentful? He will not appreciate being usurped, especially by someone like me. This is highly irregular," Damara said. What was the crafty old man up to now?

"You let me worry about Abhainn, my dear," said the old wizard. "You are to come the night before. You already know what is expected of you, but there will be a purification ritual to prepare you for the blessing ceremony.

"Tristan will not be happy about this," said Damara. "I do not know if I will be able to convince him," she said doubtfully.

"What Tristan wants or doesn't is of no moment," snapped Merlin. "Whether he agrees or not, your place is by my side during the ceremony. Do I need to remind you of your long ago promise?"

"No, my lord," Damara said softly.

Merlin softened. He was very fond of Damara, and hated distressing her. "Go then, child. Come to the forest two nights hence."

Damara worried about what to say to Tristan, but as it turned out she did not need to. Lancelot had returned for the festivities and the knights made plans to spend the evening before celebrating, drinking and reminiscing.

Two nights later, Damara stopped by the tavern before she left to for the forest ring. She was glad to see Lancelot, but he appeared worn and weary. He also had two tavern wenches on his lap. She noticed that Tristan had one as well.

"Excuse me, ladies," Damara said to the women who were occupying Lancelot's time. "This is an old friend of mine."

With great reluctance they got up and went over to the bar, where they were quickly occupied by the attentions of Gawain and Galahad. Looking at Tristan, Damara plopped herself down onto Lancelot's lap.

"How have you been?" she asked the dark knight.

Lancelot's eyes roamed her body, and his arm curled around her waist. "Not quite this well in ages, I'm afraid. I'd be better if you told me that you're not still with that moody bastard."

"Afraid so, love," she said.

"Ahh, story of my life," Lancelot moaned. "All the women I want are already taken." He took a drink of his wine, though he was already well in his cups. "And speaking of the moody bastard, here he comes."

Damara looked over at Tristan who had apparently dumped the wench off his lap, as she was lying on the ground looking outraged. He came over to them and Damara stood up to greet him.

"What's this?" Tristan growled.

"What was that?" Damara asked, eyes flickering towards the still outraged bar wench.

"She came and sat down on my lap – what was I supposed to do, be rude?" Tristan asked.

Lancelot snorted with amusement. "Like that has ever stopped you before," he said.

"So, as I asked, what were you doing on his lap?" Tristan asked, ignoring Lancelot.

Damara pulled Tristan's head close down to hers. "Making a point," she said softly. "You can have all the wenches on your lap that you want. But this," she reached down and rubbed his crotch, "belongs to me." She turned and walked away. "Just so you understand."

Tristan followed her out of the tavern, inflamed with desire. He looked around. The alleyway looked deserted, and he looked hopefully at Damara.

"Don't even think about it," she scoffed.

"Then you'd better be prepared when I come home tonight," said Tristan, "if I'm going to have all night to think about you."

Damara laughed. "Sorry, but if I know you, you'll come home far too drunk to be of any use to me – that is if you make it back at all. Anyway, I have a ceremony that I need to attend tonight. This," and she languidly stroked a finger across the bulge in his pants, "will have to wait until tomorrow."

"What sort of ceremony?" Tristan asked suspiciously. "Clothed or unclothed? I will not have you cavorting naked in the moonlight in front of a bunch of men."

"It's only a purification ritual, to prepare for the blessing ceremony tomorrow." She pulled him close for a steamy kiss that left them both breathless. "I save all my naked cavorting in the moonlight for only one man." She smiled as his eyes darkened with renewed desire. "Now, run along back to your friends and try not to scare the bar wenches with that bulge in your pants."

She laughed merrily as she left him standing there staring after her, a look of utter consternation on his face.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**BlackPaintedWhite:** Thanks for reviewing, here is another chapter. I hope you like this one as well.

**Ailis-70:** Yes, Damara has gotten bold, but she and Tristan have been together for some time now and she has blossomed. With the bar wench on Tristan's lap, I can totally see him not pushing her off.He didn't care if she was on his lap, he wasn't going to do anything with her anyway. But he also didn't expect to see Damara there. Men rarely want to be teased for being "whipped", and when they're together in their own environment they can be much different than when with their women. As I'm sure you know, being a Marine and all, right? ;) I remember these tough soldiers who would be talking all hard and then when their wives were around it was a whole 'nother ballgame.

**Cardeia:** There is a lot of tension between them, they are very physical in their relationship. I envision those two having a number of lovers' tiffs as he is obstinate and strong-minded and she has bloomed in this relationship. She's not afraid to say what she thinks now, not afraid to disagree with him, though she generally only goes so far. He does have quite a temper and definitely wears the pants in this family unit.As opposed to say, Bors and Vanora. I definitely picture her leading Bors by the nose and her being content to let him think he's in charge. What Tristan says, goes.

**Disclaimer:** Not making any money from this, so don't sue.

**Rating: M. WARNING: The following contains mature subject matter of a sexual nature that some may find objectionable. Please do not read any further if you feel that this may offend you. **

The mystics, Damara among them, rode behind Merlin on the way to the blessing ceremony. She could not ever remember being as nervous as she was at that moment, knowing what could be awaiting her.

The ceremony itself was not the worry; her role in it would be minimal and was very simple. Her purpose was to assist Merlin, and that was all. She did wonder at his motives in insisting that she take the position as it rightfully belonged to Abhainn. The man was understandably upset about being set aside in favor of Damara and she determined to speak to him later, to let him know that she had not had a part in it.

No, the ceremony was not the worry and Merlin's motives were not of immediate concern. What had her stomach tied in knots was the possibility that Tristan would recognize her, for she could not predict what his reaction would be.

At the purification ritual the night before, Damara consumed a drink that had relaxed her greatly and had opened her mind. She'd been bathed and her hair washed, and she'd seen nothing objectionable in the matter. If only it had ended there.

Unfortunately, she had allowed her back to be tattooed and her body to be smeared with woad, staining her dark blue for the foreseeable future. But by far the worst of it was the way she was dressed. She was garbed much like the other women, but while they looked natural, at home in their native garb, Damara felt horribly exposed.

Some of the women wore leggings, others wore the same type of wrap that Damara wore, slung low around her hips. Damara asked if she could wear leggings for more modesty, but the only replies she received were amused giggles. The Woads were completely unconcerned with what she termed "modesty". These were people who sometimes ran naked into battle, after all.

The top Damara was wearing was probably not any smaller than the ones worn by the others, but she felt very conspicuous in it. It consisted of not much more than a strap of leather across her breasts and Damara grew increasingly distressed at the thought of appearing in public in such garb.

She did not even have her hair to hide her breasts behind. To her dismay, her hair had been pulled back tight, twisted and braided, with the remainder flowing down her back. There was no hope of covering herself with it now.

Merlin came in and smiled when he saw her. "You look as you should now – not dressed in those foreign clothes."

"I remember faintly dressing like this as a very young child, when visiting with my mother's people. But I was a child then, Merlin. How can you expect me to wear this around people who know me?" She looked down at herself in distress. "Everything is visible! What will they think of me?"

At this, Merlin looked displeased. "Do you think my daughter, the queen, is less well thought of when she chooses to wear her native clothing?"

Chastened, Damara looked at her feet. "Of course not, my lord. But she was born to it, looks as if she belongs in it. This is not who I am."

Merlin leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead. "You were born to it also, my child. You only need to go back and remember." He hesitated a moment and then said, "If it will make you feel better, know that I hardly recognized you. You're wearing the woad, in unfamiliar garb, with your hair done differently. Unless someone looks at you very closely your identity will go unnoticed."

Damara was not as confidant of that as Merlin seemed to be, but she chose to believe him in the hope that he was right.

ooooo

The knights stood in their places just outside the newly built cathedral that Arthur had commissioned. The original wedding and unification ceremony had been held at Stonehenge, but the use of this building was a symbol of compromise between the king and his people. The king was Christian, but it was devoid of overtly Christian symbols out of respect for the pagan beliefs of many of his subjects.

Though the crowd that waited was large, it was unusually quiet. The knights shifted uncomfortably in their formal armor. Thank the gods they didn't have to fight in this stuff, thought Lancelot. It was shiny and looked good and he knew he wore it very well, but it was damned impractical. "Ah – here come the witches now," he said.

The knights watched as the horses arrived and Merlin and his mystics dismounted. Gawain was keenly watching the females and said in a whisper, "that one looks familiar, doesn't she?"

The other knights looked, save for Tristan, who was busy trying to adjust his armor. He hated this damned uncomfortable stuff. The Woad in question dismounted from her horse, showing a goodly amount of rounded backside in the process. Said Bors with a grin, "I don't think I've ever met that one on the battlefield; I would have remembered her."

Said Galahad, "She does not have the look of a warrior, I doubt you would have met her on the field."

Lancelot shushed them. "Quiet! And you've probably just seen her around the keep. We are all friends now, you know," he said cynically.

Gawain said, "Oh I'd like to be friends with that one." He laughed quietly and Bors smiled in agreement, eyes roaming appreciatively over her lush form. "I'll try to catch up with her at the festivities after and try to work on friendly relations between our people," Gawain continued. Bors' familiar rumble of laughter was subdued, but caught Lancelot's notice. He glared at the two of them. This ceremony was important to Arthur and Guinevere and he would not have the knights make a mockery of it.

They all bowed as the King and Queen passed in front of them. After Merlin and his apprentices entered the building it was then the knights' turn. They took their places in front of the assembly, facing Arthur and Guinevere, with the rest of the assemblage filing in behind them. They had no role in the ceremony, but as Arthur's knights they did hold places of honor at the front of the gathering.

Gawain was watching the ceremony and trying to place the female Woad who was assisting Merlin. She seemed so familiar to him and yet he could not remember where he had seen her before. He realized that he was being poked frantically by Galahad and annoyed, he jabbed him with his elbow to silence him. The poking recommenced and exasperated, Gawain hissed, "What!"

Galahad leaned over and whispered in Gawain's ear. "The mystic – is that Damara?" Gawain looked at him, not sure he'd heard right. Galahad nodded. "Look for yourself!" he hissed.

Gawain took a closer look at her. It was hard to tell what with all the blue dye and the painted designs on her face. As he studied her, the Woad met his eyes and then quickly dropped them when she saw the recognition begin to dawn.

Gawain was dumbfounded. What in the world was going on? Damara was no mystic, nor was she Woad. But what was she doing here? He wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it, but that would have to wait until afterwards, when he got the truth of it. This was going to be good.

He wondered why Tristan had never said anything. True, he wasn't the type of man to confide in the others, but this was pretty significant, at least worth a mention.

He looked over towards Tristan, but could not get his attention. Lancelot glanced at Gawain, impatient with his fidgeting. Gawain rolled his eyes towards the front, trying to get Lancelot to look, but all he got was a puzzled look from the dark knight. Gawain leaned over in front of Bors, and Lancelot leaned slightly to meet him, straining his ears to catch Gawain's low whisper.

When Lancelot was certain that he'd heard Gawain correctly, he took a good look at the woman standing next to Merlin behind the altar. His eyes widened as he realized that Gawain had spoken the truth.

Damara's eyes met his and she realized that the dark knight also recognized her. Lancelot's small grin slowly broadened into a wide smile, which he tried to cover with his hand. He slid his eyes slowly down her body and back up again, clearly appreciative of what he was seeing. By the time his eyes made it back up to her face he knew that underneath the blue she would be blushing furiously.

Bors, who had also heard what Gawain had said, stole a look at Tristan. The scout was regarding Lancelot's shenanigans with curiosity, and he followed Lancelot's gaze to see what had so captured his attention. As Bors watched, Tristan's brows drew down as he began to look very closely at the blue nearly naked woman who was standing next to Merlin.

The realization dawned on Tristan's face but his certainty was not complete until Damara looked at him and he saw the fear in her eyes. Surely she would have known that he would disapprove of this nonsense, yet she had gone ahead anyway, without saying anything to him.

He was standing here like a fool, the other knights sniggering at her attire, and at his obvious ignorance in the matter. He yearned to go get her and drag her out of there and in fact began to move forward to do just that. Seeing Tristan's movement, Bors grabbed onto his arm. "Hold on, boy," the big man whispered gruffly.

Tristan's eyes continued to shoot daggers throughout the rest of the ceremony. Tristan hadspent years of his life killing Woads, he still hated the sight of them, though he did try to tolerate them now. And here was his woman, dressed like one of them! He didn't know which angered him more, the fact that she looked like one of these savages, or the fact that she had neglected to mention this to him. The other knights kept a wary eye on him; any humor they might have felt dissipated in the knowledge that Tristan was coldly, dangerously angry.

After the ceremony, everyone filed out and Tristan pushed through the crowd, trying to find Damara, but it seemed she had slipped away. Everywhere he looked there were blue people, but none he recognized.

The knights followed him, in the hopes of preventing any incidents that might possibly occur. Tristan stood outside the cathedral, scanning the crowd for any signs of Damara, and the knights waited and watched.

Suddenly from behind them came a whispered voice. "Back here!"

They all turned around and saw Damara standing there, ducking slightly. "Don't turn around you idiots! He'll see!" she hissed.

Bors stood watch while the others spoke with Damara.

"Tristan is angry, isn't he?" she said in a low voice.

Taking another look at where the livid scout stood, still searching for his woman, Lancelot said, "I think it's safe to say that." He laughed shortly, a bark of disbelief. "What is this all about?" He waved his hand at Damara.

The healer sighed. "A request of Merlin's. There's too much to explain. I need to leave before Tristan sees me."

"Hmmm. Too late," rumbled Bors.

Damara poked her head up and shrieked in fright. Tristan was heading their way, his face like a thundercloud. She looked around wildly, but there was nowhere to run - he would overtake her in no time. Her more rational self wondered what she was so frightened of. He was very angry, yes, but it was still just Tristan. Still, to be on the safe side, she ducked behind Bors.

Lancelot and Gawain walked up to Tristan to try to slow him; calm him down, but he pushed right through them. Bors, the human wall, shielded Damara with his body.

"Get out of my way, Bors," Tristan said coldly.

"No – can't do it. You're going to have to come through me, boy," Bors said affably.

Furious, Tristan feinted in one direction and then reached around Bors in the other, grabbing Damara by her arm and dragging her out from behind the big knight. She cried out in pain, but Tristan paid no heed. He grabbed her other arm tightly and shook her.

"You embarrass me! Look at yourself!" he hissed at her.

Tristan started to walk away, dragging Damara behind him. Lancelot moved to block him, putting his hands on Tristan's shoulders.

"Tristan," he said. "Let go of her arm – you're hurting her."

"Don't interfere with me. This is between Damara and myself. We're going home, where I can find out what the hell is going on."

"Not like this, you're not," said the dark knight.

"And who is going to stop me?" sneered Tristan. "You?"

Tristan rounded on the dark knight, directing all his fury towards him. "You need to stop being concerned with other men's women. And not just mine. You think people don't know why you stay away? You think they don't talk about…"

"Tristan!" Damara's voice was sharp and chastising. The other knights looked decidedly uncomfortable. Everyone knew that Tristan was referring to Lancelot's seeming attraction to their queen, but it was something that had never been spoken of.

He looked down at her. "You take up for him against me?"

"I wish you not to say anything that you will regret later."

She looked at Lancelot and the pain on his face broke her heart. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to be the cause of any rancor." She wanted to go to him and comfort her friend but did not dare with Tristan in his present state of fury.

Damara turned and looked at Tristan. "We'll go now."

To the others she said, "please give our apologies to Arthur and Guinevere." She began to walk away with as much dignity as she could muster. Tristan stood for a moment, eyes spitting his fury at the knights for their interference, and then he too walked away.

He held tightly to Damara's arm, pushing her slightly ahead of him as he walked. He did not speak and Damara thought it best to maintain silence as well, which she did until she saw they were going straight home.

"I need to get the baby," she said. Vanora's children had been watching him.

"You'll get him later," Tristan said. His voice was tight and controlled and Damara saw that he brooked no discussion on the matter.

When they arrived at their hut Tristan pushed her through the door and it slammed heavily behind them. Damara turned towards him, watching and waiting.

Tristan stood, looking at her. She sensed he had so much to say that he was simply trying to find a place to begin. Finally he spoke.

"It ends," he said. "I said as long as it did not interfere with us, I would allow it. But this…" his eyes swept her form in disgust.

"I'll talk to Merlin," Damara said. She knew her words would probablyprovoke Tristan, but in his current mood she could have agreed with him completely and he would have found something to object to.

Tristan's eyes narrowed. "You'll talk to Merlin? As if he has any say in this? This is my decision, and you will abide by it without question."

Damara looked at her feet. It was more complicated than that, and she wanted to wait for a better time to talk about it, for she dreaded Tristan's fury. He was thus far keeping his anger under control.

When Damara did not immediately acquiesce, Tristan spoke. "You're not planning to defy me, are you?" A part of him almost wished she were. He was livid, and spoiling for a good fight.

At her continued silence, he went on. "You won't talk to Merlin - I will.Indeed, he will be lucky if all I do is talk."

"Please, Tristan," Damara said softly.

"Please Tristan' what?" he snarled. He crossed the room swiftly and she involuntarily flinched.

"Why do you back away from me?" he growled. "Have I ever hurt you?"

"No," she said softly.

He angrily paced the floor. The uncomfortable dress armor he was wearing grew unbearable and he began working at it, pulling it off and flinging it to the floor. Some of the pieces were more difficult and he cursed and flailed as he struggled with them, eager to be free of the uncomfortable garb.

Damara moved forward to assist him, but at the touch of her hands he pushed her away. "Don't touch me!" he snarled.

Damara felt her own anger begin to surge. "There is no need for you to be nasty to me when I am only trying to help you," she spat.

He rounded on her. "You can help me by not making me a laughingstock in front of the men," he said. Tristan could see that Damara was getting angry, and he was glad of it. He needed to vent his rage and it was hard to do when she compliant and biddable.

"It's bad enough that you paint yourself as the savages do, but to flaunt yourself in that..." Tristan tried to find the words to describe her attire but fell silent as the proper words failed him. "Have you no shame?" He spat.

Damara narrowed her eyes. "So far I have embarrassed you and made you a laughingstock, have I?" She knew she had a fine figure, nothing at all to be embarrassed about, and Tristan's words had hurt her pride.

"Rather than laughing at you, maybe the others think you're a very lucky man, did you ever think of that? You think I don't know appreciation when I see it in a man's eyes?" Damara spat.

"Who was looking at you like that? Lancelot?" Tristan snarled.

"What are you afraid of? That one of them will look at me and want me?" Damara kept going, not even hearing what Tristan said. "That maybe they'll envy you being in my bed? Or that maybe the next time they pleasure themselves one of them might think of me?"

Tristan's face went white, and he crossed the distance between them in seconds. "And you like the thought of that?"

Damara saw she'd gone too far in pushing him. "No – I was just…"

Her voice was cut off as Tristan pushed her up against the wall, trapping her with his body. "You were just what?" he growled. "Letting me know that there are other men who want you, that you can find someone else if you want?"

Not giving her a chance to answer him, he went on. His hand went to her face, holding it so she could not turn from him. His breath hissed against her ear, against her neck. "The thought of him wanting you, touching himself while thinking of you – that excites you?"

"No," Damara whispered. She knew which knight he was referring to. It had only ever been Lancelot that had made Tristan insecure where Damara was concerned.

"Do you think of him when you're with me?" Tristan's lips were now against hers and she could feel his anger in the whisper of his hot breath.

She tried to move her head away from him but his hand held her firm. Her lips parted, and she spoke against his mouth. "Never, Tristan. Only you," she said softly. She trembled, for along with his anger, she felt his arousal, and her own desire began to rise.

Tristan was seething with fury, and she could feel it in the tenseness of his body. It was tightly controlled, but Damara sensed she only had to do or say the wrong thing to release it.

"Only me," he rasped into her mouth before taking it with his own. His hands began to roam her body, pulling roughly at her clothing. His mouth ripped away from hers. "Get rid of this," he commanded.

At his words, Damara felt her anger surge. How dare he? She knew that were she to say nay in earnest he would stop. But she found herself wishing to take out her fury on him as he wished to with her. And she knew thatat the end of it, with both of them sated, they would work through this as they did anything else.

Reaching up, she and grabbed his head and pulled it against hers. Bruising his mouth, cutting it with her teeth, she kissed him and tasted his blood upon her lips. Her other hand went down to the front of his trousers, where she gripped him tightly.

A strangled cry issued forth from Tristan's throat as he pulled his mouth free from Damara's bruising kiss. He lowered his head and his teeth nipped at her shoulder, as he pulled frantically at their clothing.

Damara's breath hissed with the pain of his bite and she reached around him and dug her nails into his back, dragging them across his skin. Tristan finally freed her from the wrap that she wore and swiftly impaled her upon himself, slamming her up against the wall.

She cried out, a primal noise of pain and something else, a sound that cried out her want. Her legs wrapped around Tristan's waist, but she was frustrated - she had no leverage to push back against him and she frantically wanted to go wider, take him deeper.

Full of anger and deliberately disregarding her needs, Tristan spent himself quickly and sagged against her, crushing her between his body and the wall that had bloodied her back.

Damara slid to her feet, still aching with need and shaking with anger. "You're not finished," she said.

He looked at her, eyes hooded. "You may not be finished," he said. "But I am."

Damara was infuriated. She wanted to scream that she would go to Lancelot, Gawain, any of the other knights and get the satisfaction that Tristan denied her, but his anger was still too near. She also knew that it would be a hollow threat because even were she to carry it out, none of the other knights would touch her.

She realized that there was nothing for it. Both her anger and her desire would have to fade away of their own accord. But she could not stay here with him right now, for fear of things that would be said and done that could not easily be taken back.

She pushed past him, giving him a mighty shove, and went to the basin where she washed herself. Not looking at Tristan, or deigning to speak to him, she picked up her wrap and began to get put it back on.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Getting dressed," she informed him in a voice tight with anger.

"Not in that, you aren't," he said.

Her only answer was a contemptuous flicker of her eyes in his direction.

"Don't defy my wishes, Damara," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Why not? You defy mine!" she spat at him. "You selfishly take your pleasure, leaving me in need. Your anger at me was great, now you have incurred mine and I wish to be away from you."

As she turned away from him, his hand went to her shoulder to stop her. "Do not go out that door, Damara," he said.

Damara shook off his hand and turned on him. "If I do go, am I not welcome back?"

"Don't test me," Tristan warned.

"As you test me?" She snarled. "I go to Merlin now, to request my leave of him, and will return when I get it. If you will not welcome me back, place my things outside so that I may know."

Tristan could not believe she was defying him like this, and more, daring him to turn her out of their home. And what she had said about Merlin - what did that mean?

While he was mulling this over, Damara went to the door and opened it. "Don't come after me," she said in a voice of ice.

The door slammed heavily behind her and Tristan started to do just that, belatedly remembering his state of undress. Cursing, he laced up his trousers and found his tunic, not bothering to turn it right side out before putting it back on.

He ran out the door and looked to see in what direction Damara had left, but she was nowhere to be found. Furious, he went back into the hut, slamming the door even harder than Damara had. He idly thought that the hinges would soon need replacing if this were to keep up.

He planted himself heavily in a chair and put his head in his hands, sighing heavily. It was just as well she'd been gone, he thought. They were both far too angry to do anything other than harm right now.

He looked at the spot where he'd stood as he'd taken her, up against the wall, and felt a surge of desire at the recent memory. She'd be back tonight, he knew, and would not return to find her belongings outside. No matter the provocation, he would always take her back, as he believed she would him. He looked forward to her return and to the making up.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'm sorry it has been so long since I have updated; I'm going to try to get this one wrapped up soon. Anyway, here is the latest and as far as ratings, there is nothing objectionable in this chapter**.

As Tristan waited for Damara's return he thought about the two of them.

He remembered the very first time he had seen her, the way she had looked away from him, not wishing to be noticed. How she had been alone and silent, and how meek and almost beaten down she had seemed.

Seemed – because she had turned out to possess more strength and courage than many. She'd endured things that would break most people, had faced the horrors of the battlefield to save him.

He'd seen female warriors aplenty. But Damara was a woman, not a warrior. Soft and gentle, she'd had no place in that maelstrom of blood and innards and death. But she'd braved it for him. She'd stood against the Saxon for him.

He'd fought against her, but somehow she had wriggled her way into the heart that he never even knew he had. It had begun the night he carried her back to her campsite, when she'd curled into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. The warmth of that simple gesture was with him still.

With Damara, life was a burst of color, compared with the drab gray tones of his life before her. He couldn't imagine going back to the way things were before.

He wanted her in his life forever.

She would come back to him. She would end it – whatever it was – with Merlin, come back to him, and he would marry her.

If she would have him.

He heard the raucous croak of a raven outside and looked expectantly towards the door. That damned bird of Damara's could usually be found wherever she was.

He cursed himself sometimes for bringing the wretched creature to her for it seemed to delight in tormenting him. Damara laughed at Tristan's notions that the bird had it in for him, but Tristan knew better. The winged rat was simply too smart to do its dirty work in front of her. It would steal his food, crap on his belongings, tear holes in them.

Not to mention all the little pieces of jewelry and assorted bright, shiny objects that were constantly finding their way into his nest. It was a thief and a menace. But he had to admit that it could be rather amusing when it turned its pranks onto the other knights.

Gawain found the bird amusing, and liked to play with it. Bors threatened to shoot it out of the sky if it provoked him any further and probably would if he thought he could get away with it.

But it particularly didn't like Lancelot. Tristan reflected that while he himself had suffered indignities, at least the bird had never dared to crap on his head, as it had the dark knight.

The bird wasn't all bad.

There was another croak and Tristan realized that it wasn't Damara's bird, but the other raven that courted it. If Tristan could have spoken to it he would have told it to move on and search for a mate elsewhere. For the object of its desire was already in thrall to Damara.

A knock sounded at the door, and for a second Tristan's heart jumped. Then he realized that Damara would hardly knock at her own door, and he called out for whomever it was to enter.

He sighed as the dark knight's curly head popped in the door.

"She's not here," Tristan said. "And I didn't beat her, nor did I kill her and bury her in the garden."

Lancelot entered the little hut and sat down at the table across from Tristan. "I never thought anything of the kind," he said, looking at Tristan with an annoyed look on his face. "And I know she's not here; I saw her leave for the Woad camp with Merlin."

Tristan felt his heart drop, but his face remained impassive. "She left here to speak with him some time ago," he said.

Lancelot waited expectantly, but no more was forthcoming.

"What is going on with her and that old wizard?" asked Lancelot impatiently.

In answer, Tristan merely shrugged. He took out a knife and calmly began to clean his fingernails with it.

"You've never talked with her about it?" Lancelot asked the scout, who merely shook his head in reply.

Damn the man and his silence, thought Lancelot. You could never get anything out of him. "Well, why ever not?" Lancelot exploded. "You don't have the slightest bit of curiosity? If she was my woman…"

Lancelot was silenced momentarily by the look Tristan threw him. The man was entirely too sensitive to his friendship with Damara, but Lancelot should have taken that into account before he'd spoken.

The dark knight went on. "But of course, she is not, and what you do is entirely up to you."

Still wanting some kind of explanation, Lancelot persisted. "But why not ask her? Is it that you are afraid of what you might hear? That the stories are true?"

"Which stories are those?" Tristan said. "The ones of how I would be dead if Damara had not struck some dark bargain with him? Or the ones of the great price that he exacts for his favors?"

Lancelot merely looked at Tristan, who went on. "Aye, I've heard them and I give no credence to them. It pleases Damara to expand her knowledge of healing from Merlin and up until now I have allowed it. But no more."

"I saw your wounds, Tristan," Lancelot said softly. "I don't believe either, but I saw your wounds…"

He was stopped by Tristan's upraised hand and forbidding mien. "Not another word," the scout said.

Lancelot nodded his head and sighed. "As you wish," he said. He changed the subject. "When do you expect Damara home?"

Tristan thought back. Had Damara said when she'd be home? "She said she'd be back when…" His voice faded away when he remembered her words. When Merlin had given her his leave.

"When…?" Lancelot prompted.

Tristan was not a man to closely examine the mysteries of life. He accepted the things that he saw and did not delve into the things that he did not. The question of how he'd survived his wounds was one he had long avoided. Just luck, he'd told himself. Luck and good care. Damara had worn herself to the bone to keep him alive. There'd been no magic in that.

He'd been unwilling to look for any other explanations.

But what if there had been more to it? What if the stories were true, and for his sake Damara was in debt to the old magician? Though Tristan doubted there had been true magic at work, he did not doubt that Merlin could make Damara think there had been.

He was a crafty old bastard and no mistake. Through trickery and the sheer luck of Tristan's survival he may have managed to make Damara think she owed him something. But what? And to what purpose?

Tristan got to his feet. "I'm going to get her," he said.

"What - now?" Lancelot asked.

He watched as Tristan dressed to go out. He said nothing about his friend's sudden change of demeanor, but when Tristan began to secure his knives within his clothing the dark knight spoke up.

"You dress as if you're going to war," he remarked carefully.

"I mean to get her back," said Tristan evenly.

"At swordpoint?" Lancelot laughed. He fell silent as Tristan looked at him with a serious look on his face.

"If necessary, yes," the scout replied.

"You don't think you're overdoing it just a bit?" the first knight asked. "Give her some time – she'll be back soon."

Tristan tersely shook his head and continued his preparations.

Lancelot sighed heavily. Tristan was in no frame of mind to go to the Woad camp, armed and looking for his woman. "Wait until morning, Tristan. She'll be back by then, but if she isn't we'll all go with you."

"No – I'm going now. It's not just for her. I need to talk to Merlin. It's long past time I've had a talk with him." Tristan said adamantly.

"Merlin is the last man you should be talking to in this state," said Lancelot. "And you can't just talk to him – he's got advisors and people to go through. They won't let you near him."

"They'll let me see him," Tristan said. "For a certainty, they will let me see him."

Lancelot did not like the sound of that. It sounded like rash action was on the horizon. It grieved him, but the scout was giving him no choice but to pull rank.

"Tristan, I could forbid you to go," Lancelot said.

Tristan's head snapped up and he regarded the dark knight with narrowed eyes. "It will make no difference if you do," he said.

"Listen to reason!" Lancelot said forcefully. "We have a truce, we're allies, but you know relations are strained. You cannot go out there, demanding to see Merlin, armed to the teeth. You'll start another war!"

Tristan could see Lancelot's point, but he did not intend to do anything other than get Damara. "You think I am a complete idiot?" he asked Lancelot.

"Of course not!" said Lancelot. "But I think a man will do things that are very unlike him for the sake of love."

It was on the tip of Tristan's tongue to say something that could change things forever between him and Lancelot, but a small voice of reason stopped him. Instead, he looked at Lancelot for a long moment before replying. "Maybe some men," he said.

"I can't dissuade you then?" asked Lancelot.

Tristan shook his head.

"Then I go with you," the dark knight said. "But we go armed with swords only."

Tristan began to object, but Lancelot overruled him. "We go lightly armed, or not at all. Those are your options."

Tristan agreed, but only reluctantly. There was something in him that rebelled against stepping foot in that forest armed with only his sword.

"I'll go see if I can round up some of the others – hopefully they're not all too drunk to ride," the dark knight said. "I will meet you at the stables."

ooooo

Tristan was in the stables, with his horse saddled and ready to go, when Lancelot appeared with Bors and Gawain. They were both in their cups, but not too badly. Galahad, however, had been beyond hope, and Lancelot had left him where he'd found him; working on friendly relations with a Woad beauty.

Tristan looked at his fellow knights who had interrupted their celebrations to come with him and felt a surge of gratitude. Even towards Lancelot.

He knew in his heart that Damara would be back of her own free will, and doubted she would come to harm while under Merlin's care. There really was no urgent reason to go get her – other than Tristan's unease with the whole situation. If Merlin was coercing Damara into anything then it would come to an abrupt end.

Even if Damara was involved with Merlin at her own behest it would end. She was Tristan's woman, would soon be his wife, and he was done leaving this whole mysterious matter up to her. It was time that Tristan step in and let Merlin know that his interference would no longer be welcomed.

The mood of the knights turned uneasy as soon as their horses stepped under the canopy of the forest.

"What I wouldn't give to have a bow and a quiver full of arrows," said Bors.

"Aye, I feel naked being so lightly armed," agreed Gawain.

"We'll come to no harm," Lancelot reminded them. "Indeed, we'll have less trouble this way. Four fully armed knights entering the forest would be a cause of great concern and might escalate whatever situation we find ourselves in." The first knight cast a glance at Tristan when he said this last.

"Aren't most of them at the celebration still?" asked Gawain.

"Aye, some are," said Bors. "But they never leave their camps unguarded. And if Merlin is there, well, he is rarely without protection."

"They're here," said Tristan. "They're watching us."

The other knights looked around, but could see nothing. "Where?" asked Lancelot.

"The trees," replied the scout. "To the sides of us."

"Armed?" asked Gawain.

"What do you think?" said the scout grimly.

Their escorts kept their distance until the knights reached the Woad village, when they allowed themselves to be seen. They held spears and bows; wore quivers full of arrows.

Sensing the knights' uneasiness, Lancelot sought to reassure them. "They don't want to provoke a fight any more than we do," he said. "They're just wondering why we're here."

They knights were allowed only so far into the village before their escorts blocked their path, standing before them with spears at the ready.

Tristan scanned the village, the trees, searching for a sign of either his woman or the magician, while Lancelot attempted to question the gathering Woads.

"Merlin – where is Merlin?" he asked. "Damara? We're looking for a woman named Damara who was with him." The Woads merely looked at him, either not understanding or unwilling to answer him.

Disgusted, he looked at the other knights. "Nothing," he said. "They're either incredibly stu…"

His voice was cut off as Tristan began to move his horse forward, while calling out Damara's name.

The Woads backed away slowly, but jabbed gently at Tristan's horse with their spears. When Tristan caused the horse to rear up, flailing with his legs, the Woads backed away momentarily.

"Tristan!" snapped Lancelot. "You're not to injure any of them!"

"Then I suggest they either produce Damara or let me pass," the scout growled. "They understand us perfectly well and I will not be turned back by their pretending ignorance."

He looked at the surrounding Woads. "Do you understand that?" he spat. "Let me pass or risk getting your heads kicked in!"

"There is no need for that, scout" called out a voice from the trees above. An order was barked in the Woad tongue and the surrounding Woads began to melt away into the trees, allowing the knights a clear path.

Tristan looked up in the direction that the voice had come from and saw Merlin standing on a platform in the trees.

"You are here for your woman, scout? Surely you knew that she would be back at your side by morning. This display was most unnecessary." The sage called down from where he stood.

"I am here to speak to you also, Merlin," said Tristan. "There are things between us that need to be said."

The magician was silent and Tristan added, "Things which are better discussed in private." He had no wish to issue ultimatums to Merlin in full view of his people, no wish to push him into a corner. But he did want to make his desires on the matter known to the man.

Suddenly, Damara appeared from behind Merlin, holding Bran in her arms. Though she was still a hideous blue color and still wearing the clothing he'd found so objectionable, Tristan thought she'd never looked more beautiful to him.

"Tristan?" she said. There was a catch in her voice as she said his name. Damara looked at Merlin, who nodded to her. She dipped her head in return and made her way to the rope ladder and began to climb down it.

Tristan felt his heart skip a beat as he watched her climbing down – what if she dropped Bran? What if she fell? But she climbed down easily, holding her son in front of her while he held on with his chubby little arms.

It was obviously not her first time climbing down the tree.

She made her way over to the knights, and Tristan was unsettled by the way she was looking at him. She should have been angry with him – he had known for a certainty that she would be. They had not parted well and her last words to him had been an order not to come after her.

He'd expected her to be put out with him at the very least, though furious was a little closer to it.

But she was looking at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. Or the last one. And while he was pleased she was not angry, he didn't like it at all. A shiver went down his back as he wondered what that look boded for them.

Her eyes drank him in, even as she walked up to Bors. "Please take him for me?" she asked as she handed Bran up to the big man.

"Come here, little man," Bors said gruffly. "Come to your Uncle Bors." The boy chattered happily, for 'Uncle Bors' was by far his favorite of the knights. Bran settled in front of Bors and immediately started yanking on the horse's mane.

Walking over to Tristan, Damara looked at him for a moment before taking his outstretched hand. She dug her bare feet into the stirrups and scrambled up nimbly behind him.

"Take me home, love," she said.

"I have business with Merlin," Tristan answered. "I would speak with him before we leave."

"He will not see you," she sighed. "And it doesn't matter anyway. It's over."

"You spoke with him and he agreed to leave you be?" Tristan wanted that clarified before he left, for Damara's words seemed vague.

"It's over," she said. "He will leave us be."

Tristan should have been relieved by her words but her demeanor was puzzling to him. "Has something happened?" he asked. "You do not seem yourself."

In answer, Damara wrapped her arms around him and lay her head against his back. "Everything is fine now," she said. "Please, just take me home."

Tristan took one last look at Merlin's inscrutable face and nodded to Lancelot.

"Let's go home, men!" Lancelot said.

The knights turned their horses and began to make their way back through the forest.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

**Shevaun, KnightMaiden, newsieskane, and LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Well, here is another chapter. Thanks so much for reviewing - this one should start to make things a bit more clear.

**Cardeia:** Tristan has always seen how irresistable Lancelot is to the ladies and has seen him work his charms on Damara. Tristan really has no charms to work - he's not that guy. He sort of feels - how did I end up with this woman? What made her choose me over the Sex God? Over time he would become more trusting of the permanency of her love, but it's not something that he ever really thought to find. And he was sort of fine with that but he's become a different man, has something to lose now. He's not full-on jealous of Lancelot, just has little moments of insecurity that over time he'll forget ever having had. He's still getting used to the idea of loving someone and allowing himself to be loved. Scary stuff for a guy who was so solitary.

**Disclaimer:** These characters are not mine, save for Damara, and I'm not making any money from this.

Damara held tightly to Tristan the whole way home, trying not to think, trying not to remember.

_He was never going to be yours anyway_

She clenched her jaw as she remembered Merlin's words, tried to keep the tears at bay.

Nothing could be changed - Merlin had told her that.

She distracted herself by watching Bran, smiling as he reached up towards the forest canopy, towards the leaves that dangled far above his head. He pointed at something and Bors looked upwards.

"That's a squirrel," the big man said. "Good eating."

"Gwirro!" Bran shouted.

Bors chuckled. "Not quite, but that's close enough," he said.

Bran looked over at Tristan and yelled, "Da! Gwirro!"

Damara buried her face in Tristan's back as the tears began to fall. She'd been trying to get Bran to call Tristan Da – trust him to finally do it now.

Looking back over his shoulder, Tristan said, "Did you hear that?" He felt something stretch inside when he'd heard Bran's little voice. It was something that he couldn't quite define – pride maybe, or just plain happiness. He felt a brief flicker of regret for all the time he had wasted in resenting the boy. Then just as quickly that regret was gone. He had plenty of time to make up for it.

Taking a deep breath, hoping her voice would not shake, Damara said, "Yes, I heard."

_He was never going to be yours anyway_

Go to hell, Merlin, Damara thought.

ooooo

As soon as they got back home, Damara jumped down from the horse's back. Walking over to Bors, she murmured her gratitude to him as she reached up to take the baby.

Damara placed Bran on her hip and felt his chubby legs tighten around her waist. She smiled at the other knights – they had missed out on hours of drinking and wenching to come get her. How much nicer things would have been for everyone if she had never left in the first place.

As she headed back towards the hut she shared with Tristan, she could feel the scout watching her. She knew she had given him mixed signals – she'd told him everything was all right, but her demeanor told him the truth.

Damara had just wanted him away from Merlin. At least she'd accomplished that much.

She'd just gotten back, but she needed some time. Time to process what she had heard, to adapt, to get the grief out of her system. And then maybe she would be ready to act like everything hadn't changed overnight.

If indeed it had. What if Merlin had not been telling the truth? What if upon reflection, Damara decided she didn't believe a word out of his mouth? Tristan would never need to be told anything at all.

She could not speak to him now, for she didn't know what was best to say.

"Want to go get a bath?" she asked the boy.

"No!" he informed her.

Everything was "no" these days. It could just as well have been yes – he just liked the sound of the word "no".

The blue needed to be scrubbed from her skin. No bath house for her, though - she needed solitude and would not find that in the baths. The ring of blue she left behind would doubtless not be appreciated anyway.

She was gathering her soaps and pumice when Tristan walked into the hut. He watched her carefully as she prepared to leave.

"It's getting late," he said.

"I'll try not to be too long," she answered. "I want to get rid of this if I can." Realizing she had been avoiding his glance, she forced herself to look up at him. Damara smiled and hoped it didn't look as false as it felt. "I know you don't like it," she said.

Tristan reached out and ran his callused fingers across the length of her shoulder. "It'll wear off," he said softly.

Damara's breath caught at the look in his eyes. She longed to ask him to hold her in his arms, to tell her it was all going to be all right.

But was it?

Turning away from Tristan, she busied herself with gathering clean clothing to put on after she had bathed. She did not want him to see the tears that were beginning to gather in her eyes.

Tristan sighed, a sadly defeated sound. "We'll talk when you get back."

Damara felt a churning in her stomach. She'd held a forlorn hope that he would not press her on the issue, even as she realized how foolish that hope was. He was not a talker, and usually was content to let her come to him if she was bothered by something. He allowed her her moods, but this was different. This, he would want to discuss.

"I'll keep Bran," he said.

"You don't mind? I can take him with me," Damara said.

"How are you going to bathe and chase him around at the same time?" asked Tristan. He looked at the boy, who was dismayingly full of energy. Leaning forward, he gave her a kiss.

"Go," he said. I'll watch him."

Damara felt an almost physical pain in her chest. She loved this man with all her heart and the thought of not having him anymore – how could she live without him? There was no hiding the tears that began to flow down her cheeks.

"What is it?" Tristan asked softly.

Her hand came up and settled on his cheek. "I'm sorry about today," she told him. "I should have told you, found you before the ceremony. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Tristan pulled her close. It wasn't so much what she had been wearing, or rather not wearing, though her attire hadn't helped. It wasn't the blue dye on her skin. It was that he hadn't been told she would be there, like that, and how obvious his ignorance had been to everyone.

But that all seemed so far away – it simply didn't matter any more.

"A little forewarning would have been nice," he admitted. "But I'm sorry for the other, when I accused you…"

"If I wanted Lancelot I would have gone to him long ago," Damara said. "I'm very fond of him, but there is nothing but friendship between us." Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. "You were the only choice possible for me," she said softly.

Tristan knew that. In his heart, he did. His arms tightened around her, and Damara found herself leaning into him. How nice it would be to stay here, like this, forever.

Or for as long as they had together. At this thought, Damara pushed away from him. I'd better go," she said, extricating herself from his embrace. "It's only getting later."

Grabbing a lantern, she hurried out the door.

ooooo

Damara settled into the coolness of the spring and shivered. The baths would have definitely been warmer and more comfortable. But she enjoyed the solitude of bathing in the woods, away from everyone, the sounds of nature all around her.

She hoped that her soaps would do the trick; the only thing worse than being dark blue was being a faded sickly blue. As she scrubbed at herself, she thought back to her conversation with Merlin.

Damara hadthought to tell him that it was over, only to be told that it had just begun.

_"You once said you'd pay any cost," Merlin had said. "I am now ready to tell you what that cost is."_

_At his words, it seemed as if the whole world was about to drop from beneath Damara. She waited, afraid to hear what he would say._

_"For his life, yours in service."_

_She had reeled at the implications. What Merlin was asking was simply not possible. One could not serve without dedicating their entire being to it. But I cannot," she had said. "I am with Tristan. We have a life together."_

_Merlin had only looked at her sadly. "I'm afraid that life together must end." When he saw the stricken look on Damara's face, he went on to remind her, "You said you would pay any cost."_

_"But why this?" Damara had cried. "Why not…"_

_"Something that means less to you? Something you would not mind giving up?" _

_Yes, Damara had thought. Anything but this._

_Merlin reminded her of his words from so long ago. "I cautioned you that the price might be higher than you wished to pay."_

In the dim light of the lantern, Damara could not tell if her natural skin color was returning and she felt her frustration rise. Grabbing the pumice stone, she began to savagely scrub at her arms. She wanted the horrid color gone and if she had to take her skin as well, then so be it.

_"I cannot be a priestess, cannot devote myself entirely," she'd said, snatching eagerly to this crumb of hope. "I have a son to raise."_

_"There are other ways to serve," Merlin had said. "And you may keep your son."_

_A chill had gone through Damara at his words. When she had foolishly promised Merlin whatever he wanted she had not thought about Bran. Or indeed, about anything, in her eagerness to save Tristan's life. Now she was paying for her lack of forethought._

_"We'll defy you," she'd hissed at Merlin. "Tristan will not let me go, and I will not leave him."_

_Merlin had not gotten angry, he'd simply looked at Damara as she'd raged at him._

_"The deities will have to accept something else in payment. For I will not give up Tristan!"_

_With his next words, Merlin had informed her that she was in no position to dictate terms._

_"You may of course do as you will," he'd said in his usual calm voice. "But a favor was granted on the understanding that certain conditions would be met. If those conditions are not met, that favor will simply be withdrawn."_

_A cold hand had gripped Damara's heart. "What does that mean?" she had asked._

_"The original destiny will reassert itself."_

_"Tristan will die…" Damara had said, choking on the words._

_"As he was meant to that day on the battlefield." Merlin had looked at her with sympathy. "I know it hurts to give him up. But he was never going to be yours anyway."_

In anger and pain, Damara hurled the pumice stone into the darkness. Her skin was raw and painful where she had scrubbed at it.

Damara did not know what to say to Tristan. She had never spoken with him about the bargain she'd made with Merlin – there did not seem to be a reason to. He would only have scoffed at the notion that Merlin had changed his destiny and at Damara for believing it.

He would scoff again were Damara to tell him that defying Merlin on this would bring about Tristan's death. But if Merlin was to be believed, Damara's choices were clear. Leave Tristan and break his heart, or stay with him and watch him die.

That is, if Merlin was to be believed.

But could she afford not to? If Tristan died it would destroy her. Especially if she could have prevented it by doing as Merlin bade.

She felt cold at the very thought of leaving him. Aside from her own feelings on the matter, what would that do to Tristan? His life would be saved only to leave him with a withered heart. He would be bitter, would not understand.

Damara did not wish that for him. She wanted him to live and be happy, but he would not be. He would hate her for making him love her and then leaving him. He would withdraw, be harder and colder than he'd been before he met her.

As for love – he'd never trust his heart to another. He hadn't given his to Damara easily and if she abandoned him, would never give it again.

A small mean part of her was briefly glad at the thought – she couldn't bear to think of him with someone else. Damara wanted to think of him happy, but alone.

Thinking of her, wanting only her.

Immediately she was ashamed of herself. Her love for Tristan was greater than that.

She'd said she'd pay any price, even after being warned that it might be too high. She cursed herself for the fool that she had been.

Damara had not really allowed herself to cry yet – she didn't count the paltry tears that had rolled down her face as truly crying. But she was alone now and could let herself go without reservation. The tears began falling faster and her body shook with the sobs that she could no longer hold back.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked back and forth as she howled her anguish.

ooooo

Damara had stayed at the spring for as long as she could – she was as clean as she was going to get without having to grow new skin. It was time to go home. She needed Tristan, needed to feel his arms around her.

She'd hoped to come to a decision, but Damara was no closer to knowing if she believed Merlin or not. Indeed, she had only further confused herself with all the what-ifs that ran through her head. The only thing that was clear was that she needed to tell Tristan everything. Though already knowing what he would say, she needed him to share the burden with her. It was something that would affect them both and she could not carry it alone.

When Damara came in the door, Tristan looked up from his place at the table where he'd been sitting. The relief on his face warred with apprehension.

Damara dropped her belongings to the floor and leaned wearily back against the wall. Rising, Tristan went to her, pulling her against his chest. Nestlingagainst him, she felt his heart beat against her cheek. She was home. In his arms, against his chest, that was her home.

"Can it wait until morning?" she asked him softly. "I'm tired. And I need you."

Tristan did not want to put it off - he wanted to know what was being kept from him. Damara had told him everything was going to be fine. Clearly, she'd only wanted him away from Merlin when he found out the truth.

Ah well. Tristan could always seek him out again. The old man was going nowhere.

Damara looked up at him, her face weary. "I promise, I will tell you everything you want to know. Just...please, not now."

Tristan looked down at her. What burdens did she carry? What burdens had Merlin placed on her? He would find out, but it would be before morning.

And it would not be from her.

"We'll talk when you wake," he told her.

A small smile of gratitude flickered over her face. "I love you," she said.

He loved her too. Gods, did he love her. And whatever troubles were plaguing her, he would see them done away with.

"Come to bed," he said.

They made love slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. Every touch, every kiss was beautiful and full of meaning. At the end of it, when Damara lie sleeping in his arms, Tristan finally understood why sometimes she cried.

His heart was full, overflowing with the love he felt for her and tinged with the fear that he was losing her.

He refused to let that happen.

Quietly he left his lover as she slept in their bed. Watching her closely, he dressed to go out, noting that even in sleep her face seemed plagued with worry.

Grabbing his sword, he left to find the man who troubled her so.


	23. Chapter 23

**plzkthx101: **It may look like I've written myself into a corner, but I think you'll be pleased with the ending. Whenever it comes around, that is. At this rate the thing will last forever, lol.

**Hessa:** Thanks for reviewing! Yes, she truly seems to be between a rock and a hard place doesn't she?

**LANCELOTTRISTANBABY:** Thanks for reviewing again - here is another chapter finally.

**newsieskane:** I wanted to develop the relationship between Bran and Tristan - they live in the same household and it's only natural that Bran would gravitate to him. Now that Tristan has expressed an interest Damara has encouraged that and it's starting to pay off. But now she's worried that it's all for nothing.

**Ailis-70:** Merlin is being a PITA but while he has an agenda he's really not a bad guy. At least he tries not to be. He's not enjoying being the bearer of bad tidings, but he does intend to have his way. Tristan would love to crack him upside the head (really, gut him is closer to it) and is tempted to but while he may be a bit volatile sometimes he's not that foolish. Maybe Damara should have told Tristan right away, but she wanted to rest and gather her thoughts and decide how she felt about the matter beforehand.If he had insisted, or if she had known he was going to take offlooking for Merlin in the dead of night she would have.

**KnightMaiden:** I don't intend to let Tristan die, never fear.I thought it was an outrage that he died in the movie, so I'm not about to kill him all over again. (smile)

**Cardeia:** I always liked the mystical aspect of the Arthurian legend and I get why they didn't put that in the movie. But Lancelot did allude to Merlin being a "dark magician" and I wanted to throw a bit of that in here. I see him as a servant of the gods, (his female counterpart serves the Goddess) trying to figure out what they want and usually being pretty good at carrying out their wishes. Sometimes he throws a bit of his own agenda in there in the guise of "the gods" wanting this or that. He is trying to maintain some sort of political relevance in the face of Arthur now being King. So he's going to grasp on to whatever he can. I don't see Tristan as believing in any of this, but Damara, having worked with Merlin is a bit more privy to the mystical aspect of things. He's shown her a little, and is aware of her own gifts even though she has no interest in using them. She is at least aware of the possibility that Merlin could be telling the truth, or he could be playing a game. Does she dare gamble that he's only running a bluff on her? There is that sticky bit about Tristan being yanked from death's door that hangs over all of them. Tristan knows he should have been dead, but doesn't want to think about the implications of that. He puts it off to being lucky and looks no further than that. Everybody who was around when he was injured sort of thinks, okay, he should be dead. We're glad he's not but this is weird. Merlin has some uses for Damara and those are spoken of in this chapter. I didn't want to make it about Merlin wanting her, but more about her possibly being of use to him in some fashion.

Anyway, on with the chapter, which has taken me forever to put together. Hope you like it, because I've re-written it twice.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it, not making any money, etc., etc., etc.

Tristan left the soundly sleeping Damara and headed for the stables. The horses did not stir when Tristan came in – his was a familiar presence and did not trouble them. Swiftly, silently, he saddled and bridled his horse and led him outside.

Upon arrival at the gate, he motioned for the guards to open it for him. They would note his departure in their log, but would not alert anyone. The knights, and the scout in particular, were liable to come and go at all hours of the night.

Once clear of the gates, he gave the horse his head and they made for the trees. He had no fear that his mount would stumble, for this was a path they had trod many a time over the years, and the moonlight was more than sufficient to see by. Both he and the horse could find their way blindfolded, Tristan would wager.

He slowed as he neared the forest, watching and listening for anything out of the ordinary. Though the time of Woad warriors swooping down from the trees was past, Tristan had spent too many years watching for them to ever completely relax his guard. And he was aware that, ally or not, his armed presence in this forest could be construed as hostile.

Construed? Tristan snorted. He was hostile.

Merlin had been their enemy for too many years for Tristan to simply turn off the mistrust and dislike of the man. That Merlin was now considered an ally meant nothing to the scout, and it certainly didn't mean his interference in Tristan's personal life would be tolerated.

The forest closed around him, embracing him. The darkness here was nearly total, but for the beams of moonlight than occasionally shot through the branches. Rounding a bend in the trail, he was startled to see in a flood of moonlight, a robed figure blocking his path.

"You wanted words with me, Scout?" Merlin said.

Due to long years of practice, Tristan knew that his face remained impassive, that not even a glimmer of reaction appeared in his eyes. Even had it been broad daylight, no one would have seen Tristan react. But somehow, he felt that the wizard had seen even in the dark of night.

Merlin unsettled Tristan, one of the few men to ever do that.

Yet another reason to dislike him.

"Thank you for saving me a long trip, wizard," Tristan replied casually, as if his sudden appearance in the pathway had not been unexpected.

Though Merlin should have been addressed more respectfully as befitted his status, Tristan was completely unconcerned with masking his true feelings for the man. Quite frankly, Tristan despised him and didn't care if the man knew it or not.

Looking about and listening carefully, Tristan tried to detect Merlin's ever-present guard. He could neither hear nor see anything in the thick canopy of trees, nor on the ground, but the Woads could be nearly as silent as Tristan himself was. Merlin seemed amused at the scout's precaution.

"I am quite alone," said the old man.

The knight turned his attention briefly to Merlin. "Are you entirely sure that was wise?" Tristan asked. For the briefest second, the thought flickered in his head that if Merlin were to disappear, Tristan's troubles would do likewise. The scout's eyes gleamed at the thought.

"I will not die by your hand, Scout," laughed Merlin. It did not surprise him that the knight's thoughts would run to death as the first solution to this problem. Not for the first time, Merlin wondered what Damara saw in such a man. The scout was uncouth, uncivilized, for all he scorned Merlin's people as such.

Tristan reflected that the wizard would not die by his hand only because Tristan chose not to kill him. Satisfying as the man's death might be, there was no honor in taking the life of one who could not defend himself. He had killed many in the heat of battle, but he was no murderer. All the same, Tristan saw nothing wrong with engaging in wishful thinking.

The older man began walking to the side of the path, further into the trees. "It is late, and I believe you wish to talk. Let us get to it before morn, for I am getting no younger. Follow me, and you will know everything that I can tell you."

Tristan once again looked around, but could detect no one other than Merlin. After a moment's hesitation, he dismounted and disappeared into the woods behind the other man, leading his mount behind him and keeping his senses alert to any other presence in the woods.

There was a thin path through the brush, which Tristan followed into a clearing. It was heavily protected and concealed by a thick wall of trees and brush. Large stones for sitting upon encircled a fire pit where the wizard was busily engaged in lighting a fire.

How many times had Tristan ridden past this spot and never known of its existence?

As Tristan watched the other man, he noted that Merlin used flint and stone as he himself would have. From the stories that circulated about the magician, the knight had rather expected that fire would have leaped from his fingertips. Truth be told, given the otherworldly air of his surroundings, Tristan was a little disappointed that Merlin employed such an ordinary manner.

When the fire caught, the wizard stood up straight, groaning as he did so. "Not as young as I used to be," he wheezed.

Taking a seat on one of the more comfortable looking rocks that ringed the clearing, Merlin pointed at another rock. "Sit," he said to the knight. "We will be here for some time yet."

Tristan remained standing, unwilling to take even this simple order from the older man.

Merlin looked up at Tristan and smiled slightly. "Or stand, as you wish." He appraised the scout for a few moments and then said, "You are a proud man, Tristan. That may not always stand you in good stead." He leaned forward, holding his hands out towards the fire to warm them.

"I want to know what you want with Damara," Tristan said. He was here for a purpose; not idle chatter.

"And for that you came all this way? You could more easily have asked her," Merlin said. The wizard picked up a stick and began poking at the fire with it, rearranging the kindling which had not yet caught to the larger wood.

"I am asking you!" Tristan said harshly. "Whatever you said to her has troubled Damara deeply, and she is reluctant to speak of it until morning. I am not a patient man on this issue, so I will get my answers from you."

Merlin's expression was somber, and his face was compassionate in the firelight. "Truly, it saddens me that she is upset, but it cannot be helped." His eyes studied Tristan. "I see you do not believe that," he said.

Believing himself far enough removed from Merlin's order to sit, Tristan finally deigned to seat himself upon a rock before the fire. He remained coldly silent, waiting for the older man to begin explaining himself.

"Very well," said Merlin. "I will tell you what I can, and we should be quickly done if there is a minimum of interruption from you."

Tristan gestured impatiently at Merlin to begin. Merlin's eyes narrowed slightly. This impudence from the scout was beginning to irritate him. He had gone out of his way to see the man when he clearly did not have to. The least he was owed was the courtesy of respect.

Tersely, he said, "Quite simply, she owes a debt. A debt that must be paid."

He watched Tristan, trying to gauge his reaction. The scout had to have heard the rumors surrounding his near demise, and was the type of man who would not believe tales of magic or of the gods. However, he was not required to. Damara believed in them and that was all that was necessary.

"You should have died that day on the battlefield. I think you are aware of that fact," Merlin stated.

The look on Tristan's face did not change but Merlin could see the truth in the scout's eyes. Somewhere deep inside of himself, Tristan knew, even though the fact of it brought up questions that he consciously avoided. Arthur had been there, and the other knights as well – men whose opinions he knew and trusted. They had seen his injuries and would not have lied to him about their severity.

No, Tristan knew the truth, and if he knew that one then he could be persuaded to believe the rest of it.

Having satisfied his curiosity, Merlin continued. "When you were injured, Damara came to me and requested that I see you, which I did. I told her what Arthur himself told her, that you were not long for this world. That was something that she could not bring herself to accept." Merlin's face grew soft as he remembered the beautiful healer's determination, how she had pleaded with him. His heart had softened to her, but it had not been until she'd spoken of her foreknowledge of Tristan's death that he had seen the possibilities.

Tristan noted the other man's change of expression and his own grew hard with displeasure.

It was a look that Merlin noted. "My feelings for her are not what you think, Scout," he said. He watched Tristan carefully and saw that his words were not believed; a feeling that was evidenced by the knight's snort of skepticism.

"I'd be interested to know what those feelings are, then," said Tristan.

Merlin was amused at the scout's possessiveness. "I am fond of her. That she is a beautiful woman does not mean I seek to put her on her back," he said. "She has talents that are far more of interest to me than any she could perform in my bed."

The scout's hackles were rising, Merlin noted. "I have just told you I am not interested in bedding your woman, and still you bristle," the wizard said wryly.

"It seems to me that the thought of it may have crossed your mind," said Tristan sourly.

"And you would flay a man for his thoughts? Mayhap you should have chosen an ugly woman for your mate, one that no other man would look upon with desire," he informed the scout. "As I said, she has talents that would interest me were she the plainest woman in all of Britain. That interest dictates that she will remain untouched by me. Will my word on that satisfy you, or will you instead continue to take offense that I may have had the occasional thought of her lying beneath me?"

Merlin's words had been designed to needle Tristan, to no purpose other than Merlin's own amusement. The scout had dared to disrespect him, and in return Merlin would poke at him where he was most sensitive. In truth, though Merlin had been subject to a stray thought or two regarding Damara, he had no particular desire for her.

"I do not want your woman for myself, Tristan. I have women aplenty for that purpose and have no need to take one from another man, even would I stoop to it." Merlin explained.

Tristan didn't entirely believe him, Merlin saw, but it really didn't matter what the scout believed or didn't. Damara had no choice but to come with Merlin and the scout had no choice but to accept it. Indeed, Tristan would be well rid of her – she was his only weakness, if the scout would but see it.

"I will continue on, if you are through indulging your jealousy," Merlin said.

Tristan bristled at Merlin's words, but nodded tersely for him to continue, which the older man did. "When I told Damara you were beyond help, she begged me to aid you. She said she would pay any price if I could intervene on your behalf. I cautioned her that the price for such a service would be high, but she was in agreement with the terms."

Tristan waited for him to continue, but the wizard merely looked at him. Finally, Tristan spoke. "And what was the price?"

Merlin hesitated before answering. He did not fear the knight, but wished to consider his words before speaking. Tristan was known to be cool in battle – and previously in every aspect of his life. But since Damara had entered his life he could be disturbingly volatile where she was concerned.

Tristan grew impatient at the other man's silence. "The price, wizard…what was it?" he prodded.

Merlin realized that the knight was unlikely to be overjoyed with what he was about to hear, no matter how it was phrased. Looking calmly at Tristan, he told him the words that were going to change his life.

"She is to leave you and begin a life of service to the gods," Merlin replied simply.

Tristan studied the other man carefully, before uttering a short bark of amused disbelief. He had to be joking, though after a few moments it occurred to Tristan that Merlin could very well not be.

"She'd never do that," he said.

Even as the words left Tristan's mouth, he thought back to her behavior that evening and realized that she might very well do exactly that. Something immense had been on her mind when she'd left him to bathe, when she'd pleaded for sleep and time before speaking with him. Now he knew what that something was, and what her decision was likely to be.

Why else would she avoid the subject unless it was going to be a painful one? He felt a cold hand wrap itself around his heart and begin to squeeze. "She refused…didn't she?"

Merlin watched him with sympathy in his eyes. There had been a curious break in Tristan's voice, which tugged at Merlin's heart. He could see for a second the naked fear on the other man's face, before it was quickly covered up.

Though he had needled Tristan earlier, he was not a cruel man, and was not enjoying this misery that he was charged with inflicting. All the same, a deal had been struck and the terms must be lived up to.

Though it would ease the sting somewhat to know that Damara was leaving him to ensure that Tristan remained among the living, Merlin did not think it would serve his purpose to impart that knowledge to the scout.

"What can you offer her?" asked Merlin softly.

Tristan looked at him. His mind was going in a hundred directions all at once, and he'd not quite comprehended what the wizard was asking him.

"Offer her?" he asked.

"You heard me," Merlin said. "What do you have to offer Damara?"

Tristan thought about that while Merlin watched him covertly. Mentally Tristan ran through an inventory. He had his heart to offer her, such as it was. His lifelong love and protection, which as a knight might not be that long, granted. Children, should they be blessed with them. He would be as good a father to her son as he knew how to be. He would never have anything in the way of riches or finery to offer her, but Damara cared nothing for such things.

While he searched his mind for more, he was interrupted by Merlin's voice.

"Let me tell you instead what I have to offer her," said Merlin. "A chance for her to live up to her potential. A chance to become great. She is a good healer, but she is one of several here." He waved his hand, dismissing her worth in that arena.

Merlin leaned forward, bracing himself against his staff as he looked at Tristan. "You don't see in her what I do. She is amazingly perceptive, when she lets herself be. She can part the veil and look into the future if she chooses to. I can teach her to hone these skills, and acquire others. She could be an advisor to those in power – becoming quite powerful herself."

"In time I and my kind will be trusted by your people. But for now, Damara can be a bridge between us. She is a Briton, but Romanized. She is known by both king and knights. Where my words might be cause for suspicion, hers would be trusted."

Tristan found himself drawn in by Merlin's voice, fascinated by what he had to say, even though he was not sure he believed it. Tristan thought that Damara was special, yes, but in the way that every man thought his woman was special. Surely not to the extent that Merlin described. She was just…Damara. Wasn't she?

"The possibilities for her are endless, Tristan." Hearing his name, the scout looked up at Merlin, yanked out of his thoughts. "She would do none of that, living the ordinary life that you have to give her. She can be important to many, or important to only you."

Suddenly Tristan felt the meagerness of his own offerings. If Merlin was speaking the truth, and she could have and be all that, then what he had to give was indeed small and inadequate. Why would Damara not want what Merlin had to offer? The chance to serve king and country - to be important and respected?

Merlin watched as Tristan's thoughts flickered across his face. "It is a debt she owes, Scout." The wizard said softly. "Let her pay it. Let her go, with your blessing."

Tristan blew out his breath and rested his head in his hands. Suddenly he was very weary. There was much to think about, and his thoughts were too disorganized to make sense of them right now.

"Take the life she bought you and make another for yourself," came Merlin's voice. "You will find happiness with another woman, you'll have children…"

Tristan looked up and his hand raised to stop the other man from speaking. "The woman I have has not even left me yet and already you speak of another?" His look turned suspicious.

"You try too hard to persuade me, wizard. Can it be that you must do so because you were unable to persuade Damara?" Tristan asked.

Merlin's face turned hard and the firelight's dance upon it gave him a sinister cast. "I have no need to persuade Damara of anything. She is well aware that she has no choice in this."

Tristan turned an icy gaze upon the other man and his eyes narrowed. "Damara will make whatever decision pleases her and my sword will back up that choice," he informed Merlin coldly. "So you think hard on any ultimatum you issue."

Irritation flashed across Merlin's face. He was unused to such insolence, and fought the urge to put the disrespectful pup in his place. He was also aware that he had made a misstep where Tristan was concerned. Losing his temper would not regain that lost ground.

"You misunderstand," said Merlin. "Damara has no choice because she gave her word to pay whatever it cost to keep you from death's grasp. Are you saying that she is so lacking in honor that she could choose to go back on her word?"

Tristan bristled at the implied insult. "Your tone insinuated a threat should Damara not do your bidding. I tell you now that if her lack of choice comes from other than her own sense of honor it will be dealt with."

Despite his irritation at the scout's impertinence, Merlin had to admit that he admired the man's courage. It had been a great many years since someone had spoken their mind to him in such a way. And considering the news that Merlin was imparting to him, his reaction was not unexpected.

He pitied the man his impending loss of the woman he loved, but Merlin thought that he would eventually get over it and find another. After all, Tristan was a knight of the round table – there were no shortage of women who would bed such as he.

Tristan's face turned thoughtful. "Let us speak of this lack of choice, Merlin. For argument's sake, let us say Damara refuses to do what you have proposed. What then? What would the consequence be for that?"

Drawing down his brows, Merlin regarded the knight. This was the question he had not wanted to answer. Tristan would be nonplussed at the thought of his own death, and it could not be held over his head the way it could be Damara's. He suspected the knight would prefer to take his chances and remain happily with Damara until such time as the gods took back their gift.

That did not serve Merlin's purpose. Damara would have been properly trained had she been with him since childhood. As she was now an adult, there was much lost ground to be covered.

Truth be told, the gods were immortal, and a human life span was as the blink of an eye to them. Tristan could be taken immediately upon Damara's refusal or within a year. He could live another twenty years. It was all the same to the gods.

But Merlin did not have that kind of time.

Tristan's fate had been interrupted, and a new one was not set. Until a god took notice - or Merlin directed their attention – Tristan could well be forgotten about. Merlin had no way of knowing without going before the gods again.

He was loath to do that.

"Merlin?"

The wizard looked at the scout, who was still waiting for him to answer his question. Merlin sighed and explained, leaving out that which did not serve his purpose.

"Your life was purchased with the promise of future payment. If that payment is not rendered, that life will be taken back."

"And you told Damara this?" The scout's eyes narrowed dangerously. If so, her demeanor suddenly made sense. It had not felt true, that Damara would leave him for the reasons Merlin had outlined.

"She is aware, yes." Merlin returned.

Tristan snorted. "So that is the reason she would go to you – not for knowledge and power as you would have me believe. You threaten my life to get her to do your bidding." His hand went to the comfort of his sword. He ached to draw it and put an end to this meddling, this interference in his life.

"'Tis no threat, but a fact, Scout," Merlin said. He noted the other man's hand on his sword, but was unconcerned. As he'd told Tristan before, he was not to die by his hand. "The gods have rendered a service and are owed payment. A life for a life. Hers in service for yours returned to you. And for her service she will have so much more than you could ever give her. Why would you deny her that?"

Tristan glowered at Merlin, hating the man, hating this situation he found himself in. He had no doubt that Damara would leave him if she thought it would save his life. That he did not believe in it would matter little if she herself did. The seemingly real possibility that he would lose Damara took its grip upon him and for a moment he forgot to draw breath. Life without her would once again be cold and gray. Having known the warmth of her love, being without it would be intolerable.

"I don't believe in any of this." Tristan told him flatly. "This magic…these gods of yours."

"Don't you?" Merlin asked. "I think if you look deeper, you will find that you believe more than you care to. In any case, Damara believes and that is all that is required."

Tristan hated that Merlin knew Damara so well, that he knew exactly how to get her to do his bidding. He only hoped that there was a way to convince her that Merlin's teachings were nonsense, convince her to stay with him.

He looked into the glowing embers of the fire. It was dying down – had he really been out here with Merlin that long? It was getting late, or early rather. The next day would be upon them in a matter of hours and Tristan longed for his bed, longed to pull Damara close to him and forget about this evening's events.

Merlin's voice, soft and sinuous, worked it's way into Tristan's consciousness. "Think of her, Tristan. If you insist she stay with you, and you die for it – what would that do to her? I think quite possibly that it would destroy her. Would it not be much better to part now, allowing her to go her way with the knowledge that you will remain alive and well?"

What was best for Damara? Tristan pondered on that. Was it he? He liked to think so, but Merlin's words had put doubt in his head. Questions were swimming through his head, but one in particular passed through his consciousness more than the others.

"When?" he asked the wizard.

At Merlin's questioning look, Tristan elaborated.

"If Damara stays with me, how long would we have together? Assuming I do believe in any of this, that is, " he added.

Tristan saw a shadow pass over Merlin's face. "I am no longer young, and while I would stay and answer all your questions, I fear they will be many." He groaned as he got to his feet, and stretched to relieve the stiffness he felt from sitting on the cold rock. "I have told you what you need to know, and it is time for me to seek my rest."

"I have many questions yet," Tristan protested.

"I'm sure you do, but you know all you need to. Knowing the how and the why of it all would not change what must be," Merlin answered. He leaned heavily upon his staff.

"Go your way now, Scout, for we are done here."

Merlin's tone bore a finality which was borne out when he turned his back to the scout and began to walk away. Though Tristan protested and called questions to the wizard's retreating back, they went unanswered, as if having fallen on deaf ears.

Gathering up his mount's reins, Tristan began to lead him back through the woods, following the almost invisible path that Merlin had taken. When he arrived back to the main road through the woods, the scout could find no trace of Merlin. The man had not been so far ahead of him that he could have left already, but no matter which way Tristan looked, there was no sign of him.

Looking upon the ground, he could find no trace of any footprints either. The hair rose on the back of his neck momentarily, and he had a sudden unreasoning urge to flee. The woods suddenly felt deep and heavy, full of unknown threats that could not be chased away with a sword.

With a low growl, he quelled that urge. He was not a superstitious man, nor was he a boy to be frightened by thoughts and shadows. Merlin had no doubt taken a turn into the woods and had avoided the main path altogether. The man thrived on trickery, Tristan thought with disdain.

Satisfied with that explanation, he mounted his horse and set off through the woods, back towards the Wall, back towards Damara. Though he felt an urge to go faster, he maintained a moderate pace, and kept his senses sharp for any presence in the woods that might pose a threat to him. His many thoughts wanted to intrude, but he swept them aside for examination at a later time. Long years as a scout had taught him never to allow himself to be distracted by anything, and this most recent trouble would not break that longstanding habit.

Soon the ride through the forest was over and Tristan felt much more at ease once they were back out in the open, and out of Merlin's woods. He had never before been a man given to irrational fears and he chided himself for giving into them now.

He kicked his horse into a gallop, eager to get back to the bed where his woman lie sleeping.

Normally he would have bedded down the horse himself, but this time he woke the stable boy. "Be good," he admonished the horse, who had only last week pinned another stable boy between himself and the stable wall. The boy had not been harmed much, just a few bruised ribs to go with his bruised pride.

But Tristan did not want any mishaps tonight that would warrant his further attention. Hopefully his horse was as eager for sleep as his rider was and would be too tired to cause any more such mischief.

After leaving the stables and after leaving one more warning to the stable boy to be cautious around the cantankerous nag, Tristan left for his home.

Quietly he entered the hut and lit a lantern, though he did not need the light to find his way around. He went over to the pallet on which Bran slept, to check that the boy was well. He smiled slightly at the soft snores that came from the small sleeping form, a form that had once again kicked off his blankets.

He wondered that the boy could sleep as he did, on his belly, with his legs pulled up under him and his rump high in the air. But sleep he did, and Tristan tenderly tucked the blanket around him that he would not sicken from the chill night air.

That finished, Tristan turned to Damara, who lay sleeping in their bed. She did not know, but it was often his habit, when returning late at night, to watch her by lantern light as she slept.

He enjoyed drinking in the beauty of her face in repose, listening to her occasional sighs and murmurs as she slept. He would wonder at those times what it was she was dreaming of. Occasional nightmares that woke him and sent her sobbing into his arms needed no explanation, but he wondered at her happy dreams – was he present in them?

The long dark silk of her hair beckoned to his fingers, and he ran a few strands through them, marveling at the softness of the cloud that streamed down her back.

He moved her hair to the side and his eyes followed the criss-cross of old lash marks that webbed her back. He noticed the newer markings on her back where he had roughly taken her against the wall. They looked as if they hurt, and he felt shame at what he had done. He would have stopped had she objected, he felt sure. He could never tell, nor could Damara, what was going to bring on the terror that still plagued her occasionally. Their most passionate, furious encounters might not bring it on, but sometimes it came even during the most tender bouts of lovemaking. It was a puzzle, but one that Tristan hoped to help her solve one day. Until that time he would remain patient with her.

As his eyes passed over her skin, he noticed the tattoo that now branded her. It was placed high upon her back, ending almost at the base of her neck. It was a small tree with 3 stars above. He did not know what it signified and was fairly certain that if he did know, it would anger him greatly. For Merlin had ordered that placed upon her, he was certain. He arranged her hair to cover the tattoo – he did not wish to think upon it right now.

Turning his attention back to her scars, he reached to touch them, the old marks and the new, but then pulled back. Their presence embarrassed Damara and she was ashamed for Tristan to see them. She would tense up whenever his hand would brush across the nude skin of her back. He had tried many times to tell her that they were not ugly to him – they were simply a part of her. He wanted her to feel that he loved and accepted everything about her, including her scars. But she would have none of it.

Maybe one day she would accept his touch upon them. If they were together long enough.

That thought led him again to thoughts of Merlin. From their conversation, Tristan didn't know what was true, what was deceit. What to believe and what not to. He thought briefly of waking Damara, so they could figure this all out right here and now, but when his eyes fell upon her peacefully sleeping face he decided just to join her in slumber. There would be plenty of time for talk in the morning.

He removed his clothing and slid under the covers next to her. Though deep in slumber, she turned towards his presence and curled up into him. Her hand, as it usually did, came to rest upon his chest, his heart directly under her palm. It was a habit she had formed to reassure herself that he still lived, as he recovered from his battle with the Saxon. It was a habit she retained and he found great comfort in it. As if she was always looking out for him.

He knew one way or another, she always would. Even if that meant leaving him.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

**Randomisation, Morwen of Greensdale, KnightMaiden, plzkthx101**: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I'm sorry it takes me so long between updates but sometimes it's just hard to sit down and write. Real life intruding as it does.I hope you enjoy this chapter, I liked writing it.

**Furibondo:** Thanks so much for reviewing. This isn't going where I intended it; but over time I've sort of changed my mind on where the characters should go. I'm glad that the twists and turns haven't lost you - this thing really should have been over a while ago! Yes, Tristan can be a bit prickly, but I'm trying to loosen him up a bit and hopefully not lose what makes him Tristan in the first place. It's hard, having so little of the character from the movie to go by. Anyway, I know this has been a while in coming and I hope you enjoy it.

**Cardeia:** Thank you for your compliments. I know there are a few chapters that I sort of thought, okay, it's been a while, I need to get this out so let me post it. I'm trying not to do that anymore. Reading your work has made me sort of look at my own and think okay, this is a bit sparse, could do with a bit more description here or there. I wanted to leave Merlin a bit ambiguous - is he or isn't he? I see him as someone who is very good at reading people, at taking advantage of situations. And part of his mystique is that people don't really know. There are rumors that fly about him, but those please him. They help keep people off guard. And he may have a bit of magic about him, he sure knows things that he shouldn't, and appears when you don't expect him to. Maybe he has more magic to him than he likes to let on, maybe he doesn't have as much as people think. I didn't want him to be some guy witha wand who turned people into toads. When I began to delve into the whole mystical aspect of it I thought that it could be hokey, and have tried hard to stay away from that. Tristan, I'm trying to bring along - he has a life he never thought he'd have, sort of wondering if the rug's going to be pulled out from under him. So he hasn't been able to be really confident in this whole thing, but he's getting there. I hope you like this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Same as the other chapters

Tristan awoke to the feeling of being watched.

"What is it, woman?" he growled playfully.

"Just thinking about how beautiful you are," Damara answered. Her voice was far away, and thoughtful.

Tristan's lips twitched slightly in amusement. Sometimes she came up with the strangest notions. "Men aren't beautiful," he informed her with a yawn and a luxurious stretch.

There was a pause as Damara watched his body flex and coil. "You are," she said softly. He heard the slight catch in her voice and opened his eyes to her liquid blue-green ones peering at him.

Damara blinked and as Tristan watched, a single bright tear trailed its way down her face. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear.

"It's going to be all right," he said softly. "Nothing to worry about."

Damara sniffled and dashed her hand over her eyes to wipe away the remaining tears that were threatening to fall. "I think your lips are my favorite," she said with a slight smile as her eyes lowered to study them.

"Are they?" he asked, bemused.

Her fingers brushed them lightly, and Tristan closed his eyes in enjoyment at the gentleness of her touch. He kissed her fingertips, and then he felt her hands move upwards to cup the sides of his face.

"But you have such strong cheekbones," she murmured. He could feel her fingers stroking the tattoos upon those cheekbones, and her lips brushed against his mouth before moving upwards. Each side of his face received a soft kiss.

Her fingers continued caressing his face, stroking his forehead, running through his hair. Tristan swallowed heavily. On any other morning he would have taken her ministrations as an invitation to something more intimate. Today the thought crossed his mind that she might be committing his face to memory, taking the chance to touch him while she still could. He pushed his fears out of his mind. He would find the words to convince her to stay – Merlin was not going to take this from him.

"Open your eyes," she said.

He did as she asked, and she smiled gently. "One might think they were brown, you know, but they're not. They're golden. Such beautiful eyes..." Slowly she lowered her head and placed a tender kiss upon each eyelid.

"I could spend my life looking at you…"

Her voice caught, and Tristan pulled her down upon him, holding her tightly against his chest. Into her hair he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."

Closing her eyes, Damara nestled against him, reveling in the bristly feel of his chest hair against her cheek. His words reminded her that he had, in fact, gone somewhere the night before.

Of necessity he would sometimes leave and arrive at odd hours, and while she no longer stayed awake and anxious until he returned, she was always aware of his absence even while sleeping. Things just seemed…incomplete when he was gone.

"I felt you leave as I slept," she said. "You went to see him, didn't you?" Tristan always made her aware when he would be riding out early, so she would not wonder where he was when she woke. He'd said nothing of the kind the night previous and Damara knew his unplanned departure could have only been for one purpose.

"I did," he said simply.

She raised her head from where it rested comfortably upon his chest and regarded him. "I should have told you last night," she said. "I'm sorry for that. It was just…"

Tristan shook his head. "No matter. I would have seen him anyway," he said. He thought back to his conversation with Merlin, which had been an odd experience, to say the least. In the morning light, it seemed as if it had barely happened, as if it had been a dream.

"He knew I was coming," Tristan told Damara. "He was waiting for me in the forest." Falling silent for a moment, he remembered how unsettling Merlin's unexpected presence had been. And how equally disconcerted Tristan had been by the other man's seeming disappearance into thin air when he had declared their meeting at an end.

"What did he tell you?" Damara asked softly.

Tristan looked down into her face as he replied, "He said you were going to leave me."

Damara cast her eyes downward, suddenly unwilling to look at Tristan. With a heavy sigh, she lay her head back down upon his chest.

"You can't believe that story of his," Tristan said. "He's manipulating you. Surely you see that."

Damara wished she could be as sure as Tristan was. She had doubts, but there was something about Merlin, something that felt old and powerful, which made her unwilling to completely trust those doubts.

She began running her fingers idly through the hair on Tristan's chest. "If not for him, you would not be here now," Damara said. "No one believed you would live, but here you are. If Merlin can do that, can he not undo it?"

"Look at me," Tristan said. When she hesitated, he asked again. "Damara, look at me."

Reluctantly she dragged her gaze up to meet his. His eyes were golden and intense as they bored into hers.

"It was not any power of Merlin's that saved me, but you. I felt your presence; it was you who brought me back." Tristan's gaze was direct, his demeanor earnest.

Damara wondered if Tristan truly believed that. He had always been uncomfortable with the notion of powers and knowledge from beyond. He scoffed, but the question of what had really happened to him was one he'd never dwelled upon.

Damara wished she could believe that she had saved his life, but in her heart she knew it wasn't true. Something…other had saved Tristan. Oh, she had helped, but it hadn't been all her doing, by any means.

Damara took Tristan's hand. "I'm flattered by your faith in me, but…"

"Marry me."

Her voice trailed away, and she looked at Tristan's face. She was unsure of what she'd just heard, but it had sounded like…

"Marry me," Tristan said again, softly. Outwardly he was calm, his voice almost nonchalant, but he wondered that she did not hear the pounding of his heart, for it felt near to leaping from his chest. He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but now that he had, the only thing to be done was to wait for her answer.

As he watched the awareness of what he had said and then the happiness steal over her face, his heart slowed and he realized he had been holding his breath.

"Tristan," she murmured, smiling at him. Her face was radiant and he felt his stomach do a flip. Gods, she was beautiful.

Damara would be happy to be with Tristan just as they were. A ceremony would not bring them closer, but all the same she was ridiculously happy at the thought of being his wife. She was on the verge of telling him so when she remembered Merlin.

Tristan watched as a shadow began to cross Damara's face, marring the happiness that had briefly shone there. The specter of Merlin, banished for a few moments, hovered over them again.

Before she could say anything, Tristan pulled her tightly against him. "Don't even think about him," he said. "He has nothing to do with us."

Damara clung to him, wishing fervently that were so. Merlin had told her that she had time to prepare. How much, he did not say, but she did not want to think about him now. Time enough for that later.

ooooo

Merlin's ultimatum was a subject that was never far from Tristan and Damara's thoughts, and it dominated their conversations in the following days. Damara was torn with doubt and Tristan strong in his conviction that Merlin was a trickster with no real power. Away from Merlin's influence, Damara began to be swayed by Tristan's arguments.

He had told Damara of Merlin's reluctance to name a time frame for Tristan's supposedly imminent demise. "He ended our conversation as soon as I asked him - he only bluffs to get you to do his bidding. The old fox would not commit because he fears being exposed as a fraud when his words do not come to pass." Seeing the doubt on her face and hoping to press his advantage, Tristan went on.

"Every time that I ride out could be my last," he said. "You live with that now – what is it about Merlin's words that changes any of that?" He watched her and could see that his words had made an impact.

Everything Tristan said to her made perfect sense. It was true – though war with the Saxons was not yet upon them, Tristan lived a dangerous life. There were no guarantees that he would always come home to her. She did not live in fear of it, but she lived with the knowledge of it. It could happen tomorrow, or never. What did Merlin threaten that was any different?

Their conversations did not all center on Merlin, and were not all peaceful ones. At times they had bitter arguments, especially when they would turn to the topic of marriage. Damara had thus far avoided giving Tristan an answer to his proposal and her refusal to do so hurt him deeply. For her part, Damara desperately wanted to speak the words that would end his pain, but she could not – not while she remained so unsure of the future.

The question of Merlin was one she continued to push aside for later consideration. He was unseen, and the fear that had squeezed at her heart upon hearing his ultimatum began to recede.

A week passed, and then another. As Tristan's opinion of Merlin began to sway her, Damara began to think they might have a future. When he again broached the subject of marriage, instead of refusing an answer, Damara deflected it by asking him who would marry them. Their options were to be married by Merlin, or at least by another under his authority, or in the Christian church. Neither choice was palatable to them, and Tristan hadn't considered the details of a wedding, only the end result.

Seeing the consternation on his face, Damara went to him. "No wedding ceremony will ever bind me closer to you than my heart already does." She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. "Do you not know that?"

Tristan kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tightly. "Aye, I know it. In my heart, you are my wife already, but I would honor you with a public declaration. I would have no one say that I do not love you enough to marry you."

"Since when do you care for what other people think?" Damara asked him teasingly.

"I don't – they can think what they like about me," Tristan returned. "But you are another matter. I would have you looked down on by no one." As he said the last, his tone was intense, almost angry. Damara pulled back to look at him.

Damara wondered if he knew of the sidelong glances, the whispers and giggles that sometimes followed her as she went about her daily business. Of the rumors that she had been a whore to Romans, the proof of which was the bastard she carried on her hip.

Though she held her head high and was sure of Tristan's love, in darker moments she wondered if he might not be better off without her. Most of the time she paid no heed, for most people treated her kindly, with those who scoffed at her being ever fewer in number.

She smiled at Tristan. "Any woman who would scorn me for not being your wife only hides their jealousy that they do not have a man such as you. I stand proudly by your side, whetherwife to you or not," she said.

"You are wife in my heart," said Tristan, bringing up his hand to cup her face, "but I would one day wed you all the same." His eyes searched hers, hoping to find the answer he sought in their blue green depths.

Damara reached up with her own hand and stroked Tristan's bearded jaw line. There was a touch more gray in it than there had been when they met, she thought.

"One day, when things are right," she agreed.

A look of comprehension dawned over Tristan's face. "Did you just say yes?" he asked her, not quite believing.

Smiling, Damara answered, "I believe I did."

With a triumphant whoop, Tristan wrapped his arms around her waist. He picked her up and pulled her against him, twirlingher around and around as her feet flew through the air. Damara laughed and shrieked, pounding his back with her fists until he stopped and put her back down.

She had barely caught her breath when his mouth came down on hers and took it away again.

ooooo

Several days later, Damara stood outside the hut that Bors and Vanora shared, looking around in amazement.

"That is a lot of chickens, Vanora!" she exclaimed.

Indeed, there were chickens everywhere, a veritable cornucopia of them, scratching and pecking at the ground. The low clucking noise they made rose occasionally to outraged squawks as the children laughingly attempted to see who could catch one first.

"We've had them over a week now, and I've yet to see more than a couple of eggs out of the lot," Vanora complained. "I should have sent Bors back straight away when he came from market with them." She heaved a big sigh, but then smiled as she watched the antics of the children. "That will teach me to let him go on his own."

"He wasn't exactly on his own, as I recall," said Damara. "How do three men go to look at horses, and come home with a wagonful of chickens?"

Vanora glowered darkly. "Bors had the idea that we could make money selling the eggs, and that there would at least always be fresh chicken to eat. Galahad and Gawain of course, didn't bother to try to talk sense into him."

There was a small uproar as Damara's raven landed in the midst of the flock and began pecking at the ground. He quickly decided that this food was beneath him, but his companions were of mild interest. The chickens settled down, but gave him a wide berth as he strutted about amongst them.

"So, Bors fancies himself a chicken farmer now, does he?" Damara grinned.

"Oh, no, not him," said Vanora. "The children. 'It's about time they made themselves useful,' is what he said to me. He intends that they feed them, and gather the eggs to sell around the village, only there have been precious few of those. The only thing that I foresee is more work for me." She flapped her hands at the children. "Go on, now! You find yourselves something else to do. Those chickens will never lay as long as you keep them in a frenzy like you do!"

The children made general noises of discontent, and one or two of them made last frantic grabs to catch a hen, which failed miserably. "Come on, Bran!" one of the brood shouted as they trailed away.

"NO!" came the reply.

Damara turned her head to see what her child was up to. "Bran! You heard Miss Vanora! You go on away from there and go with the others!" she said.

Bran turned around and shot a baleful glare at his mother. His finger pointed sternly at her and his brows lowered. "No!" he said peevishly.

Vanora stifled a giggle while Damara sighed heavily in exasperation. She strode swiftly across the yard towards her son, who began to wail in misery with the knowledge that his good time was about to be over. Chickens scattered and clucked their distress as her skirts swept past them.

"Do you want to go home and have a nap?" she asked Bran as she picked him up.

"No!" he shrieked, flailing about madly. "Chicken!"

"Well, you can't have the chicken," Damara explained, her patience wearing thin. Bran nearly toppled from her arms as he flung himself backward in despair at the bad news.

This was intolerable. Damara set her son on the ground and squatted so that she was eye level with him. "That is enough! Do you understand me?" She was frustrated by his behavior lately and worked hard not to let her temper get the better of her, though she wasn't always successful.

The boy rubbed his eyes, smearing tears into the dirt on his face. Tracks of clean worked their way down his cheeks as more tears followed. Suddenly remorseful, he reached for Damara, who after a moment relented and held him close. Bran continued to cry for a few moments and then rubbed his face into her shoulder, wiping tears and snot on her blouse.

"Lovely," she sighed.

A tiny voice piped up. "Maybe Bran would like to see the kittens," Damara heard from beside her.

Bran's head popped up from where it lay on Damara's shoulder. He blinked and squirmed out of Damara's grasp, obviously over the chickens and on to the next new thing.

"But you have to promise to be good," said the little girl. Damara knew it wasn't one of Vanora's children, but wasn't quite sure which of the other villagers she belonged to.

"Thank you, Roswynn," said Vanora. "Make sure you all are nice to the kittens."

"We will!" said the little girl as she grasped Bran's hand. She walked out of the yard, explaining the rules of looking at the kittens while Bran waddled eagerly at her side.

"You poor dear," Vanora laughed, looking at the frazzled Damara.

"I don't know what to do with him," Damara said. "He used to be such a sweet-tempered child. Suddenly it's like he's become somebody else. So much defiance and oh! The temper tantrums he throws!"

"They all get like that around his age," said Vanora. "Some are better than others of course, but he'll get past it. Some of mine were so bad they would have had Bors pulling his hair out if he had any!"

Damara made a face of mock disgust. "Oh, Bran is nothing but good for Tristan," she said. "He says I am too soft on him, that is why he misbehaves."

"Pah, men!" snorted Vanora. "What do they know of it?"

"Well, it doesn't help that Bran behaves for Tristan and not for me," Damara said sourly. "Now Tristan thinks he is an expert." She giggled suddenly.

"You should have seen it yesterday," she said to Vanora. "Bran was being obstinate, and Tristan happened to come home. He scolded Bran for not minding me, and Bran was devastated. He just can't stand for Tristan to be cross with him."

"What did he do?" asked the redhead.

"He followed Tristan around with his arms up, wailing, 'Daaaaaa!' until Tristan could finally take it no more, and picked him up and held him until he fell asleep." Damara snorted. "But I am the soft one! You should have seen the sheepish looks he was giving me."

"I've seen that look a time or two myself," said Vanora. "Like when I caught Bors promising them sweets if they behaved!"

"I hope he doesn't share that tactic with Tristan," smiled Damara.

The two women laughed, and after their laughter faded, Vanora said, "Tristan is a good father. I've known him for many years and never would have thought it."

Damara smiled. He was a good father, a good man. Her only wish was to give him a child of his own. Though it would be a daughter, she knew Tristan would be pleased. Thus far, there were no signs of one. She was about to voice this thought to Vanora when the redhead spoke.

"So I hear there is a marriage in your future."

Surprised, Damara said, "Tristan told you?"

"Not exactly," smiled Vanora. "He told Bors, and Gawain, and Galahad, and I think he may have even told the blacksmith and the stable hands."

Damara felt stricken and the blood ran from her face. What if word got around to Merlin? "The blacksmith and the stable hands?" she asked. "Why would he tell them?"

Vanora looked at her curiously. "I was joking, dear," she said. "I don't think he has told anyone but the knights and maybe Jols. I just meant that he seemed very pleased about the whole thing."

Damara's face began to relax a bit and Vanora asked her, "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no," Damara laughed nervously. "It just didn't sound like Tristan to be so open about it, I didn't realize you were joking."

Vanora considered her friend carefully and was about to say something when a sudden cry rang out from the gate.

"Riders approaching!"

The two women looked at each other in surprise. "Everyone is here, aren't they?" asked Vanora.

"Except for Lancelot, and it's too early to expect him back," Damara replied.

People came to the fortress every day, mostly men looking to help defend against the Saxon incursion. So many arrived, in fact, that their coming was no longer announced, unless it happened to be somehow noteworthy. Men on horseback were noteworthy, though they were generally the knights of the fortress returning from some business.

The men who came were mostly untrained and on foot, and usually sent by Lancelot who had made it his mission to help raise an army. He rode from village to village, speaking of Arthur and the need for good men to help him defend against the Saxons. It kept him away from the keep while giving him a plausible explanation for staying away.

He always seemed so at peace when he returned, and within a few days would be champing at the bit to be off again. He would seem thinner, more drawn, faded somehow. It was not readily apparent to everyone, for Lancelot fought hard to keep his feelings under wraps, though as gossip attested, not as well as he assumed. Around Damara, however, he would relax his guard and it seemed to her that he would go somehow colorless at those times. Damara worried for him, worried that the thing that ate away at him would somehow be his end. His eyes, while sparkling and merry upon returning from his travels, would soon return to their now more usual troubled state.

It had occurred to Damara briefly that his feelings might not be entirely natural. The rapid change from peaceful to haunted when he was at the keep and closer to Guinevere, the intensity of his state. This was not love that she could discern, but something more akin to obsession, need. With a bit of hate thrown in for good measure. Hate for himself, certainly. Hate for Arthur, who had always been as a brother to him. And even some for Guinevere for being the root of it all. These were not feelings that would come naturally to the Lancelot she had known previously.

To satisfy her curiosity, Damara had sought to question the dark knight, but he had snapped at her and would not discuss the matter. Shortly thereafter he had left yet again, and she had swept her suspicions from her mind. Surely she was blowing it all out of proportion. Anyway – what purpose would binding him to Guinevere serve anyone? It made no sense.

He was her friend and she loved him dearly, but of late she'd had problems of her own to try to solve. Merlin remained in the back of her mind, much as she sought to forget he existed and enjoy her life with Tristan. Her stomach churned at the thought of Merlin, and as was her custom, she dismissed him from her mind.

Bringing herself back to the present, Damara turned to her companion. "I wonder who the riders are?" she asked.

Vanora shrugged. "Who knows? Could be farmers riding in on their plow-horses. I suppose we'll find out if it's anyone of consequence."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Damara returned. "I'd better go gather up Bran and get him down for a nap." Wearily she added, "That is, if he is done playing with the kittens."

Saying goodbye to her friend, Damara left to go get her son and take him home.

TBC


End file.
